


A Midsummer Night in Las Vegas

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blow Jobs, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel's First Time Having Sex (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Hand Jobs, Las Vegas Wedding, Librarian Castiel (Supernatural), Love Confessions, M/M, Modern Royalty, Mutual Pining, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Prince Dean Winchester, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 60,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27593516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: Dean is a Prince, and even in the 21st century he’s expected to make a good match (unfortunately for Castiel, marrying your local librarian and best friend apparently doesn’t count). The announcement of Dean’s upcoming arranged marriage to someone he doesn’t even know hits Castiel hard.But late in the night during his bachelor party in Las Vegas, Dean leans over to Castiel and asks him a question. Castiel knows he should say no. But the next morning, Dean and Castiel wake up with matching rings on their fingers.With an international incident only one mistake away, Dean and Castiel begin trying to get an annulment in secret - but slowly realise that neither of them wants to spend the rest of their lives apart.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Lisa Braeden
Comments: 212
Kudos: 693
Collections: DCBB 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, my DCBB entry for 2020. I can't believe I'm posting a Dean/Castiel fic in a world where (spoilers!!) Castiel has confessed his love for Dean in canon. What is going on. What even is this year. WHAT.
> 
> Edit on 15th Dec 2020: I'm leaving that up there for posterity, but oh my god, I knew nothing of what was to come.
> 
> Thank you so much to my partner in this challenge, [delicirony](http://www.delicirony.tumblr.com), for being so fun and awesome, and drawing such gorgeous art - it's beautiful, and it brought United Corelia to life. And even designing a flag!! I'm so glad we got to work together again. <3
> 
> You can find the link to the art masterpost [here](https://delicious-irony.tumblr.com/post/634988212780220416/a-midsummer-night-in-las-vegas)!
> 
> Thank you also to my two beta readers who've experienced various parts of this story multiple times, [thebloggerbloggerfun](https://thebloggerbloggerfun.tumblr.com/) and [natmoose](https://natmoose.tumblr.com/). You are wonderful and I love u.
> 
> If anyone would like spoilers on the content of this fic for their own comfort in reading it, please feel free to head over to [my inbox on tumblr](https://whelvenwings.tumblr.com/ask) and send me an ask. Or you can stop over there to say hi and tell me your favourite song by BTS. Or something else, it's all good. I hope you enjoy reading!

When the letter arrived through the door, it did so with a very ordinary _flop_ onto Castiel’s welcome mat. There was no fanfare, no orchestral score, no explosions in the background.

Castiel, who had been making himself some coffee in his kitchen, pulled a face and wandered down his hallway with an empty mug in his hand.

Surely not a bill already, this early in the month. A librarian’s salary stretched far enough for an apartment in the outskirts of his home city, some slightly fancy coffee in the mornings, and a mug that said _Tonight? Sorry, I’m booked_. A librarian’s salary definitely couldn’t handle an unexpected tax demand or an electricity bill two weeks before payday.

But when Castiel stooped to pick up the letter, it was thick and the paper was high-quality. His name and address were printed in dark blue ink with little curlicues on the C and the N. And when he turned it over, he saw a familiar symbol stamped on the back: a bear rampant, beside a blooming five-petalled flower. The Crown Prince of Corelia’s personal symbol.

With a frown gathering on his brow, Castiel considered the letter. Dean’s birthday wasn’t for months, so his royal invitation for that shouldn’t be here already. What else could this possibly be about? Why wouldn’t Dean have just texted him? If this was another prank letter that only said “what up” with a smiley face, Castiel was going to have words.

Awkwardly, two fingers still looped through the handle of his mug, Castiel ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. On thick paper bearing the official Palace seal, there was a short note written in the same dark blue ink.

_Save the date,_ it said in perfect calligraphy.

By the time he reached the end of the note, the mug had slipped out of Castiel’s hand and shattered on the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel surfaced from sleep with his face crushed up against a wrinkled pillow, and the first thing he saw was Dean’s face.

Dean, asleep in the same bed, was facing Castiel. He had his mouth open and his hair was a mess.

There was a brief quarter of a second where the softness of sleep still clung, and through the haze of it Castiel looked across at Dean and smiled just slightly.

And then the headache narrowed its eyes, set its sights, and pounded its first blow.

Castiel scrunched up his face and pressed a hand over his eyes. As he moved, his stomach rolled.

“Augh,” he managed.

Oh, god. His tongue was thick and awful in his mouth. And his head was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, which was loud in the ear pressed up against the pillow. He tried to move, and his stomach protested even more loudly.

“No,” Castiel murmured, when its sickening twists didn’t stop. “Oh, no. No.” He sat up, staring around him, trying to make sense of the dimly-lit, wrecked room he saw through blurry eyes. Sliding off the bed, he stumbled towards a doorway and found himself, mercifully, in a bathroom.

His stomach’s protests turned into riots. He hunched over, messy.

When he cleaned himself up, his movements were clumsy. He didn’t look at himself in the mirror. His fingers were numb. He knocked a few things off the bathroom shelf, and left them on the floor. When he rinsed his mouth for the tenth time, as he spat, he could still taste lime.

Lime. Yes. There had been lime in the drinks. Bright green lime drinks, which had seemed like such a good idea to keep ordering last night.

Castiel’s body ached. Everything felt painful and dried-out and tired. He stumbled back into the bedroom. Where he was, what had happened, why Dean was asleep in the bed – none of it seemed to matter. He fell back onto the mattress, and closed his eyes. Only sleep could save him.

“Mmm.” Castiel woke up to himself making a sound of acknowledgement, and frowned in confusion.

“Cas, s’the door,” said Dean’s voice, and Castiel blinked open his eyes.

And then groaned, and squeezed them shut, because the curtains were open and the sun was up, and the light skewered directly and horribly into his headache.

Somewhere across the room, there was the sound of someone knocking on the bedroom door.

“Shhhh,” Dean said. Castiel fumbled with the sheets, made a low growl of dissatisfaction, and then buried his head under his own pillow.

There was a beat of silence.

Castiel tried to drift back into the darkness of sleep, where there was no headache and no roiling stomach and no taste of lime. Just him, and the vague awareness of Dean nearby.

The knocking came again. Harsh and insistent.

“Go ‘way,” Dean moaned, and there was the sound of him twisting angrily in the sheets.

There was a pause. For a few shining seconds, Castiel felt sleep reaching out for him again, ready to welcome him back into its sweet dark embrace –

_Knock knock knock knock knock._

Louder, now. And Castiel thought that he could hear a voice outside the door, calling out. He squinted open his eyes again, and looked across at Dean.

Dean was a ball of blankets, resolutely not moving.

With a groan, Castiel rolled himself upright. Eyes mostly closed, trying to blink furiously to get them used to the light, he walked across the bedroom towards the door. When he reached it, he pushed it open.

“What?” he demanded, of an empty bathroom. He took a second to look around it, confused – and then the knocking came again but from his left, and he saw another door. The one to the outside world, rather than the bathroom. Castiel gritted his teeth, reached out for the golden swirled metal handle, and swung it open.

“What,” he said, more flatly this time, before his eyes had even managed to focus on the source of the disturbance.

“Castiel,” said a worried voice. Castiel saw red hair about a foot below his eyeline, and scrubbed a hand over his face and then back through his hair.

“Good morning, Charlie,” he said. Did he smell like limes even across the four feet of distance between them? It felt as though everyone within a mile radius should be falling to the ground choking on it.

“Is Dean in there?” Charlie said, without preamble. When Castiel blinked hard, she came into focus, and her expression was taut and worried.

“Um,” Castiel said. He wondered for a second if he was supposed to be lying. He couldn’t remember making any promises to lie about where Dean was. Then again, he couldn’t remember much from the last twelve hours or so, beyond the overwhelming presence of livid green citrus drinks.

“He’s not in his room,” Charlie said, snapping out the words. “We’ve looked for him everywhere. I’m going to have to call the local authorities, and –”

She kept talking as Castiel’s brain tried to grind into action. There was no reason why Dean shouldn’t be sleeping in his room. It was fine, he could tell her.

Castiel cleared his throat.

“Sorry, Charlie,” he said, the words coming out in a low grumble. “Bad hangover. Yes, Dean slept here last night. We must have both passed out.”

Charlie visibly sagged with relief.

“He’s okay?” she checked, and Castiel nodded. His eyes were starting to work, now, processing what he was seeing. Charlie was in her usual smart suit, and as Castiel watched her she lifted her wrist to her mouth. “Impala One has been located. I repeat, Impala One has been located. Stand down.”

Castiel could hear immediate, tinny chatter through the earpiece that she was wearing, too quiet for him to be able to pick out words. Charlie reached up to her earpiece and turned it off.

“Thank god,” she said. “Of course he just got drunk and passed out with you. Of course. Jesus.”

“He’s fine,” Castiel confirmed. In the privacy of his own head, he thought that there really wasn’t much _of course_ about it. Dean hadn’t fallen asleep in Castiel’s room for years, not since they were both still in college. And over the past several months, they’d barely even spoken to each other.

Before last night.

There was something nagging at Castiel’s mind, but his memories were still hazy and the light was still too bright and his stomach was still churning. Someone passed behind Charlie in the lush hallway where she was standing – someone wearing black and white with a bellboy’s hat on – and with a blink Castiel remembered where they were. The hotel. The casino.

Las Vegas.

“I can’t believe this was one of the last places I checked,” Charlie said. “It’s been nineteen minutes that we thought he was missing. It took me nineteen minutes to ask you. Seriously, I’m losing my touch.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. His head was thudding. The sense of there being something important that he’d forgotten was growing.

“Okay, well, anyway.” Charlie smiled at him awkwardly. “Sorry to wake you up.”

“You should be,” said Dean’s voice from behind Castiel, and Castiel felt a familiar warm rush go up his spine. He half-turned, and saw Dean coming towards the door slowly. He was still dressed in the clothes he’d worn the night before, shirt hanging out, tie hanging loosely around the open neck. He was squinting as much as Castiel had done a few moments ago. “I was busy trying to sleep off all the alcohol in this city.”

“Half of it,” Castiel corrected him, and Dean acknowledged it with a little raise of his eyebrows and tilt of his head as he came over.

“Half of it,” he agreed.

“Well, next time try texting me that you’re sleeping in a different room, instead of just telling me you’re back at the hotel,” Charlie said. The relief was still coming off her in palpable waves. “You know I promised to give you more space this weekend, and I left you alone all last night, but it was on the understanding that you’d text me updates, and…” She paused, her eyes narrowing at Dean. “You aren’t listening right now, are you.”

Dean yawned. Sleepily, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a couple of times and then grimaced at the taste.

“Yes,” he managed, far too late.

“Right. Well, at least you didn’t get up to anything crazier than falling asleep with Cas.”

“What do you mean,” Dean said, seeming to be only half-concentrating, his eyes searching the hallway behind Charlie. “Hey, do you think we could get breakfast?”

“I’ll have your usual morning-after cure sent up,” Charlie said. “And what I mean is _,_ there are some pretty juicy rumours going around.” She raised her eyebrows. “Anything I should know about, as the person in charge of making sure the newspapers don’t publish your personal rock-bottoms for public enjoyment?”

“Rumours?” Dean said, looking unfazed and still mostly focused on the breakfast. Castiel, however, felt that nagging sensation in his mind reach critical levels. There was definitely something, something about last night, something that he really needed to remember had happened –

“Yep,” Charlie said lightly. “All kinds of things. Someone said you were doing karaoke in front of hundreds of people.”

“Doesn’t sound impossible,” Dean said easily. Castiel smiled awkwardly. If he could just remember…

“And I heard you broke into someone’s home and skinny-dipped in their pool.”

“I think it was a spa that we broke into, actually.” The reply was so suave. Had that actually happened? Castiel looked across at Dean, a question in his eyes.

“Can you believe,” Charlie said, “some people were actually saying you got married?”

Castiel felt himself freeze, just as he made eye contact with Dean.

It all came back at once.

The casino bar. The drinks. So, so many drinks. Dean leaning over to him. The desperation on his face.

The chapel.

The rings…

Castiel tucked his left hand behind his back. He held eye contact as Dean said,

“Married? Okay, well… that’s a little too far.”

Castiel pressed his lips together. Something flickered in Dean’s eyes, and then he looked away from Castiel and back to Charlie, and he grinned at her.

“Anyway. Gonna get cleaned up,” he said. Was Castiel the only one who could see how fixed that grin was? Surely Charlie would suspect something. But she nodded, and started to back away.

“Your food will be up in a few minutes,” she said. “Castiel, what do you want?”

Castiel was staring at Dean. He blinked. He didn’t know what to say. He thought he might have forgotten how to speak.

Dean, meeting his eyes, called out to Charlie,

“He’ll have what I’m having.”

“Great! Don’t be too long. Our flight home is in a few hours.”

“Got it. See you later on,” Dean said, his voice studiously hearty and untroubled. Slowly, slow enough not to arouse any suspicion, he reached for the door. Castiel moved to let him get to it, and Dean gently swung it closed.

In the silence, Castiel brought out the hand that had been behind his back. He swallowed hard.

Maybe it hadn’t happened. Maybe his memory was all wrong. Maybe it wasn't real.

He lifted up his left hand, and looked at it.

There, on his fourth finger, was a band of gold.

Castiel stared at it for a long, long second, and then met Dean’s eyes.

Dean’s jaw was tight. He raised his own left hand. A matching gold ring twinkled innocently in the light.

They looked at each other in silence. Castiel didn’t want to move, didn’t want to breathe, didn’t want to do anything that would mean he was awake and this was real and he was going to have to deal with the consequences. And then Dean said,

_“Shit.”_

As though a spell had been broken, Castiel breathed out.

 _“Shit,”_ Dean said again.

“We… did we actually…”

“Did – did we?”

“But – but we can’t have. We _can’t_ have...”

Dean’s expression was a mirror for Castiel’s – confusion, horror, each desperately seeking an answer in the other’s face.

“We did,” Dean said. “I remember it. I remember the chapel, I remember signing the… the thing…”

“We can’t have done.”

“We did!”

“Dean, we _can’t_ have done.” Both of their voices were an octave lower than usual, rough with the hangover. Castiel searched Dean’s face, looking for a hint that this was a joke. They couldn’t have done it, not really. They couldn’t have come to Las Vegas and got drunk and married each other. But Dean’s face only showed deepening panic, and the memories were starting to creep back for Castiel too.

Dean at the altar, smiling at him. That stood out sharp and clear.

“We have to – we have to think of what we’re going to do –” Dean said, breaking into his thoughts.

“Maybe it was a fake… ceremony,” Castiel said desperately. “Maybe it’s not even legal.”

“I signed things,” Dean said. “I remember the… the guy, the official dude, the… he wasn’t a priest, was he?”

“I don’t know, I –”

“Cas, we’re so fucked. We’re so fucked.”

“Maybe this isn’t… maybe if we just go to the chapel, and say it was all a big mistake…”

“Does that work? Can you just take it back?”

“I don’t know…”

“I swear it’s not that easy, right?”

“It has to be,” Castiel said, more loudly than he’d meant to.

Dean turned away. He used his left hand, the hand with the ring on it, to briefly cover his mouth.

“Okay,” he said, putting his hands on his hips and looking out across Castiel’s messy hotel bedroom. “Okay. Look. We gotta stay calm.”

“Stay calm?” Castiel said incredulously. “Dean –”

“If we lose our minds then everything’s gonna go completely to shit, and –”

“Dean,” Castiel said, hearing the strain in his own voice. “It already has.” Dean turned around to look at him. Castiel took him in, Dean, _Dean,_ in his hotel room, with a wedding ring on his finger. “This… this can’t be happening,” he managed to say.

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it, looking at a loss. He covered his face with his hands.

“Fuck,” he said softly. He put a hand on his stomach, suddenly, and closed his eyes. “Oh, god. I do not feel good.”

“The bathroom is there,” Castiel said helpfully, pointing with one hand towards the door.

Dean waved him off. “I already hurled like eight times while you were asleep.”

Castiel nodded. That made sense. The only thing that made any sense was that they’d each puked their guts out in the bathroom while the other was sleeping. That was a hangover. That was feeling gross after a night out. That was normal and unpleasant. That wasn’t…

There he was again in Castiel’s mind – Dean, at the altar. Smiling at him. Not a big wild grin, just a little smile with his eyes all bright.

Anger seeped into Castiel’s panic. Anger at what, he wasn’t sure.

“Dean,” Castiel said. “We have to do something.”

“I’m trying to think,” Dean said. “I’m trying to think.”

“Think faster,” Castiel snapped, knowing it was unfair, but his heart was pulsing hard and fast and the room was spinning just a little and everything ached and he wanted to sleep.

Dean gave him a look.

“Right, like you’re so on it?”

Castiel opened his mouth to retort, and then looked away.

“Sorry,” he bit out.

“Fuck. _Fuck._ Okay.” Dean didn’t seem to pay any more attention to the apology than acknowledging that the moment had been dispelled, and they were back to panicking together.

“We… we… how do we…” Castiel grasped for words that wouldn’t come.

“Okay. Wait. Charlie said it was just a rumour that I got… you know… that this happened.”

Castiel nodded, trying to follow the train of thought, his head pounding painfully.

“She didn’t react strangely to you being in my room,” Castiel said. “So that means… the rumour probably didn’t say anything about it being me who you… who’s your… you know.”

“Right,” Dean said, pointing at him. “Right. _Yeah._ So that means, no one knows except us.”

“So it’s a secret,” Castiel said.

“It’s a secret,” Dean repeated.

“And we can keep it that way.”

“We can keep it that way,” Dean echoed after him. “Yeah. Right?”

“We just don’t tell anyone,” Castiel said, feeling like one domino telling another that no one had to know they’d fallen down. But across the room, Dean was nodding.

“Yeah. _Yeah._ And then we just… we figure something out… figure it out ourselves. If we tell anyone then it could leak. But if it’s just you and me who know, not even Charlie, not even – not anyone…”

“We go back to the chapel,” Castiel said. “We go back, and we explain the situation, and we say that we need them to delete the record, or whatever it is…”

“I… yeah,” Dean said, his tone a little hollow. “But Cas, I don’t know if that’s going to work, ‘cause –”

“It has to,” Castiel said through clenched teeth. “Dean, we can’t be married. You’re _engaged.”_

Dean’s expression crumpled. He stepped back a few paces, and then sat down, heavily, on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah,” he said.

“We’re here on your _bachelor_ party.”

“I know, I know…” Dean looked down at the floor for a long second, and then said, “Uh. Nothing… nothing… _happened_ last night, right?”

Clearly, something huge had happened last night – but Castiel knew what he meant.

“No,” he said sharply. The night might have been a blur, but he’d remember that. “We must have just said what was necessary to make it legal.”

“Right. Right. Obviously.”

Castiel watched him in silence for a few moments. The memories from the night before were still garbled and fractured, but Castiel remembered the urgency in Dean’s face as he’d asked a question, and as he’d explained why he was asking.

Castiel remembered he’d listened carefully, and then he’d said, _yes._

He turned away, and closed his eyes. He felt his chest constricting, his fingers tingling with pins and needles. He’d said yes. He’d said _yes._ After all these years of saying nothing, being good, being _so_ good, he’d ruined it all in one night.

Everything was ruined.

“We can’t tell anyone,” Castiel said. Dean lifted his head to meet Castiel’s eyes. He looked exhausted.

“I know,” he said. “Especially not my mom.”

“We just have to find a way to get it… to undo it.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course.”

“We can do that,” Castiel said. “Can’t we?”

Dean took slightly too long to say,

“Yeah. Yeah, we can do that.”

“Is it… is it treason to marry a prince who’s engaged?” Castiel said.

Dean, Prince of United Corelia, said,

“I don’t know. I don’t think so?”

“The ghosts of your ancestors will probably kill me, either way.”

Dean’s face creased, falling into lines of worry that Castiel didn’t completely understand.

“I’ll go down to the chapel,” Castiel said. “I’ll undo it. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly. “Okay.” He kept looking down at the ground, not meeting Castiel’s eyes. His face was shifting subtly, as though his thoughts were racing and leaving swift patterns across his features. What was going on in his head, Castiel wondered. Was he frustrated at himself, frustrated that this had happened? Was he feeling as lost as Castiel himself?

“Dean,” Castiel said. Dean looked up at him.

“I’m gonna need to throw up again,” Dean said.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel stood in the shower, the hot clear water doing its best to drive away the worst of his headache. Closing his eyes, Castiel held his breath and lifted his face directly under the stream, feeling rivulets coursing down his chest and back. On any other day, it would have felt good.

Married.

He and Dean were married.

He didn’t want to think about it. Knew that it was dangerous to let his thoughts linger even for the briefest moment on any of the memories from last night. He knew how easily his mind liked to latch onto memories with Dean, and hold them too close, take them too seriously, read things into them that weren’t real.

Like the time when they’d gone swimming together with their friends, and the two of them had spent the entire time just sitting at the side of the pool talking, water droplets glittering in Dean’s hair.

Or the time Dean had cooked Castiel a full three-course meal when they were fifteen, and Dean was still thinking he could make a career as a chef work on the side of his royal duties.

Or the time they’d been at a party back in college, and a song had come on – of course it had been something as cheesy as Taylor Swift’s _You Belong with Me,_ and their eyes had met across the room, and somehow it had felt as though it had meant something.

But it didn’t. It _didn’t_ mean anything _._ Castiel had to know that, after all these years. He and Dean had been best friends since they were seven years old. If something had been going to happen between them, it would have happened by now.

Even though obviously it _couldn’t_ happen, because Castiel was just an ordinary person. And Dean was the Prince of an entire country. If Dean had ever had any feelings for Castiel – which he clearly hadn’t, because for years Dean had always told him everything and never said a word about it – but if he _had_ ever had those kinds of feelings, then they would’ve faded long ago under the weight of his responsibility as heir to the crown of Corelia. Dean had to make a good match.

And he would. He was going to, when they flew back home from this bachelor party.

But there was a part of Castiel’s mind that couldn’t help shoving the memories from last night forward. They were blurry and skewed by the lime drinks, but Castiel could clearly see in his mind’s eye the moment when Dean had leaned over to him.

 _Please, Cas,_ he heard Dean say, those green eyes wide and urgent. _I can’t go through with it._

_You’re serious?_

_‘Course I’m serious. You’ve gotta know. Please, just… you don’t have to do anything else, just get me out of this…_

And Castiel had looked into Dean’s eyes, and said _yes._ Because of course he had. Dean had asked for help. Through the haze of drink Castiel had known that saying yes would be a bad decision, he’d known that it would hurt tomorrow. He’d already felt the pit in his gut. But he’d said yes, because _of course_ he had.

He scrubbed some soap into his hair and over his body, giving himself a quick wash and then getting out before he could sink too far into shower sadness. He’d planned ahead, remembering to bring fresh clothes into the bathroom with him so that he wouldn’t have to leave with just a towel wrapped around his hips.

As he dried his hair quickly with a towel and dressed, he tried to pull himself together.

Married. Married to Dean Winchester. He was married to Dean Winchester.

And now he had to find a way to undo it.

He left the bathroom, and found Dean still sitting on the edge of the bed in the quiet of the hotel room. The detritus of their night out was sprawled around him – bottles, food wrappers, a broken lamp. Somehow, inexplicably, a large plastic sign on the floor that said _Free Taco,_ which had the word _Deam_ written on it. A drunken attempt at writing _Dean,_ Castiel guessed, recognising his own handwriting.

On the bed, Dean was looking down at his hand, twisting the ring on his finger.

Clearing his throat, Castiel frowned as he moved across the room towards his suitcase, trying to act normal – even though acting normal in these circumstances was probably the most abnormal thing he could possibly do. Dean didn’t seem to be paying him any attention, though. Castiel thrust his old clothes into his suitcase and reached for his comb, tugging it through his hair.

His heart was thudding painfully, and he didn’t even know why. Dean still hadn’t moved.

Eventually, Castiel cleared his throat.

“The bathroom’s free,” he said unnecessarily.

“Right. Yeah.”

There was a pause, and then Castiel said,

“Dean… about last night.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, and Castiel recognised Dean’s ‘I’m going to shut down any attempts to talk about this’ tone with a sinking feeling.

“I just wanted to say,” he pushed on regardless, “that you seemed like you didn’t want to go through with… back in Corelia, the… I mean, what happened, what we did, it seemed like a means to an end. And if you don’t want to get married when we go back to Corelia, then –”

Dean stood up abruptly.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s all good.”

“I…”

“Drop it, Cas.”

“No,” Castiel retorted. He threw his comb back into his suitcase. “Last night, you were talking as though there couldn’t be anything worse than going through with the royal wedding, and –”

There was a sudden knock on the door, and immediately Castiel stopped talking. Dean shared a quick look of mingled guilt and worry with him before heading towards the door, and peering through the peephole.

“Just food,” he said, “thank god.”

He went to open the door.

“Dean,” Castiel hissed.

When Dean swung around sharply, Castiel tapped at the fourth finger on his left hand. He’d left his own wedding ring in the bathroom, on the shelf, but Dean was still wearing his.

“Oh,” Dean said, his voice sounding taut. “Right.” He slipped the gold band off his finger, and put it into his pocket.

Castiel breathed out. All it would take from this point on would be one slip-up. One conversation between them being overheard, one person catching sight of a golden ring, one camera flashing at a bad moment, and their secret would be out. He was going to have to be careful.

At least he’d had years of practice at being careful to hide what was going on in his thoughts when he was with Dean.

Hovering awkwardly by the edge of the bed, Castiel watched Dean grab their food from the hotel staff member and bring it over. One hand out, Dean handed Castiel his breakfast. The two of them had spent enough hungover mornings together that Castiel knew the exact contents of the elegant paper bag that had the hotel’s monogram on the side.

They sat down on the bed together. Castiel reached into his bag, and pulled out a double cheeseburger. He felt his aching stomach give a little rumble of hope for better times to come as soon as he smelled it. He looked up at Dean, who was rustling for his own food.

When Dean felt Castiel watching, he glanced up.

“Good?” he said.

“Yes.”

They smiled at each other, and for half of a second it was like old times. It was the day after every stupid party they’d ever been to. It was another lazy morning licking cheese off their fingertips. It was like the wedding rings didn’t even exist.

Except, Castiel thought, as Dean reached for the TV remote and flicked on a show for them to watch, except they did exist. Right now, one ring was glinting in the bathroom’s chrome and one was pressed up between folds of fabric in Dean’s pocket.

He couldn’t make this not matter by just pretending it wasn’t real, and he couldn’t make the rings disappear by telling them his feelings were probably just strictly platonic. He couldn’t hide things that were so real, so tangible. Not in the way he’d got so good at hiding things that couldn’t be seen or touched.

They ate their burgers in silence.

“Darling, I’m sorry, you’re going to have to hold. I’ve got one.” The chapel attendant gave Castiel a quick lookover, and then put his phone down on the counter between them. The lobby was a lot smaller than Castiel remembered from the night before – though just being here was bringing back more memories.

The rich pink paint on the walls. The photos of smiling newlyweds. The tacky glittery hanging decorations everywhere.

Dean leaning against him, arm round his shoulders.

_We’re doing this. We’re really doing this!_

_We are,_ Castiel had said. And despite himself, he’d been glowing.

_You and me, getting married, Cas…_

Castiel blinked back to the present. The attendant was looking at him, eyebrows raised.

“Um, yes,” Castiel said. “Sorry. I…”

“Don’t worry,” the attendant interrupted. “I’ve seen worse. Look at you! You managed a shower, unless I’m wrong.” He gave Castiel a once-over. “And you combed your hair. Really, you’re in the highest percentile of hygiene for people with morning-after-the-wedding syndrome.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, while inside he was gaping. He had no idea how to respond. He tried to shape a few words, but none of them quite came out his mouth.

“You want to ask if I can cancel what happened, right?” the attendant asked.

Grudgingly, Castiel nodded. His gaze dropped down to the attendant’s lapel, which had a silver badge on it that read _Balthazar._ That was right. Balthazar, who had waved him and Dean through into the chapel as they’d walked in with their arms around each other.

“Oh, darling. You were so happy last night. What went wrong?”

“Um,” Castiel said, his mind still feeling barely functional. “Do I… have to answer that, to get you to undo it?”

Balthazar’s blue eyes were full of a kind of ironic humour that made Castiel’s gut twist.

“I’m afraid you’re a little past that,” he said.

“I am?”

“Yes, love. You see, in days past, I could have ripped up the paperwork. Wink wink, say no more. But these days, it’s all online.” Balthazar raised his shoulders in an elegant shrug. “You’re in the system, so to speak. You and whomever you married.”

Castiel put the tips of his fingers against the counter, steadying himself.

“Please,” he said. “There has to be something you can do.”

“Not a thing, I’m afraid.”

“Could I speak to the officiant who was here last night? The one who…” Castiel trailed off before he had to say, _married me. The one who married me._

“Him? Sorry, darling. He’s only in after ten in the evening. And anyway, he’s not in charge of the admin. That’s all me.”

“But…” Castiel swallowed. “Listen… money isn’t an issue. Whatever it would take…” He could feel his cheeks starting to burn as he offered money, and money that wasn’t even his own. He knew Dean would pay without judging him, but it still felt wrong.

Balthazar tutted.

“My honour is being tested,” he said, the words dripping with irony. “Really, though; there’s nothing I can do for you. Except recommend a particularly speedy set of lawyers.” Balthazar plucked a business card from a pile on the counter, and pushed it with a neat little _hssh_ across to Castiel. “They’re even more discreet than I am. Perfect for anyone who happens to have found themselves in a right _royal_ mess, so to speak.”

Castiel’s head jerked up, but Balthazar met his look of panic with a smile.

“Relax,” he said. “I put the _us_ in _business._ Because your business is just between us.”

With his brain working at roughly one-quarter speed, Castiel could only scowl at him.

“Right. Well. Unless there’s anything else…?” Balthazar said, seemingly unfazed. Castiel wondered how many people he usually had traipsing through his doors, trying to unmake history. If he’d started rating them by hygiene, Castiel thought as he remembered the start of their conversation, probably a lot of them.

“Please,” Castiel said, once more. “Surely if we’re not citizens of America…”

“Makes no difference,” Balthazar said.

“We’re from United Corelia –”

“Makes no difference.”

“Diplomatic immunity?”

“Makes no difference,” Balthazar repeated smugly. “Look, it can’t really be that bad to be married to a Prince, can it? I mean, one assumes that there are benefits. Palaces and the like. And you were both saying how happy you were, last night…”

Another flash of memory. Dean pulling Castiel in to kiss his cheek as a camera flashed.

 _‘Til death do us part,_ he’d said, mock-serious.

 _‘Til death do us part,_ Castiel had echoed, his chest aching even though he’d been smiling. Another flash. Picture after picture.

“I’m just saying, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad,” Balthazar said. Castiel’s eyes snapped up to his, suddenly furious.

“You’re a scavenger,” he said in a low voice. “Here to profit off people who can’t make good decisions and are willing to do anything to escape their circumstances. Even if it’s the worst thing they could possibly do.”

He turned on his heel, and started to walk away.

After a moment, he turned back, and walked up to the counter.

“Do you have the photographs,” he said, and Balthazar grinned at him.


	4. Chapter 4

“Here he is,” Charlie said, when Castiel arrived back in front of their hotel. The heat of the day wasn’t stifling, it was murder. Castiel melted into the car that was waiting for him with the door open, followed by Charlie’s assurances that his things had all been packed for him.

As soon as he sat down in the stretch limousine, Castiel was greeted by a chorus of deep, loud cheers. He winced, eyes still adjusting to the dark interior of the car after the sun’s merciless stare.

“Here he is,” said a voice that still sounded a little thick with drink. Castiel blinked, and saw that in the car with him was the full list of invitees to the bachelor party. Dean was sitting all the way down the other end of the car, only the tense jaw behind his smile giving away that he wasn’t happy.

Next to Castiel was Gordon, who leaned over and gave Castiel a light shove on the shoulder.

“Come on, Novak,” he said, as the door shut behind Castiel with a genteel _thunk_. “You’ll tell us, right?”

“Tell you?”

“Dean’s holdin’ out on us,” Garth said, though he sounded as though he didn’t particularly mind. With a low grumble, the cars moved off.

“Won’t tell us where you two went last night,” Ash said. “C’mon, Castiel, spill it.”

Castiel tried incredibly hard not to look across the car at Dean, knowing his face would immediately give away that there was a secret between them. Instead, he kept a look of puzzlement on his face as best he could, gazing around at everyone in the car. Their expressions were all bright-eyed and eager, hanging on details. The car smelled just a little like cigarettes and alcohol and sweat.

“What was it, strippers?” Gordon pressed.

“No,” said blond Nick Munroe. “Not strippers. Probably a little something stronger than our drinks, right? Those Poison Bomb drinks weren’t enough for you?”

Poison Bombs, Castiel noted. Those offensively green lime drinks had apparently been named appropriately.

“Shit, you guys went off to score?” Ash said, and Harry Spangler and Ed Zeddmore made sounds that could have been disappointment at the idea of them taking drugs, or disappointment at being left out. Castiel watched all of their faces as he thought frantically. Somewhere towards the back, Dean’s brother Sam was the only other person in the car who looked visibly uncomfortable.

“No strippers,” Castiel said. “No drugs, don’t be ridiculous. We just went back to the hotel and watched a movie.”

“Sure, right,” Gordon said, to general scoffs and derision. “A movie.”

“What movie was it?” Ash asked. “No, wait – both say it at once.” Castiel couldn’t help his eyes sliding to Dean’s across the car as it hummed along the highway to the airport. What had he been thrown into? What movies even were there? Dean looked just as wide-eyed, and Ash was already starting the countdown. “Three, two, one…”

“Ratatouille,” Castiel said.

“The Wedding Planner,” Dean said.

Castiel swallowed.

“First we watched Ratatouille, then we watched The Wedding Planner,” he explained.

“You said _movie._ Singular,” Ash pointed out.

“What are you, the cops?” Dean said, at the same time as Castiel shot back,

“That’s because we only watched one _movie_ at a time. Singular.”

Ash looked unconvinced.

“Look, guys, if I remember right,” Dean said, “this was my bachelor party, and the drinks were on me, so if you’ve got any complaints…”

The group erupted into a round of wordless appreciation at the memory of the night of free revelry, and the rest of Dean’s sentence was drowned out. Castiel exhaled, slowly, as the attention dipped away from him. Gordon began regaling them with a story about a man in a tiger costume who had appeared after the two of them had left; once everyone seemed distracted, Castiel made eye contact with Dean across the car.

 _Ratatouille?_ Dean mouthed, barely moving his lips, his eyes full of humour.

Castiel arched an eyebrow, quite clearly offering Dean’s choice of movie the same judgement. Dean tried to stare him down, but eventually caved and looked sideways for a second, the corner of his lips quirking in a small smile.

With a sudden cold punch to his gut, Castiel remembered all over again. They were married. Dean was probably only smiling like that because he thought that they weren’t any more – he had to be thinking that Castiel had sorted it all out, made it go away.

But Castiel was sitting in the car with a wedding ring and a set of photographs in an envelope that were burning a hole in his pocket. If he just leaned forward too far or if one of the guys in the car insisted for some reason that he turn out his pockets, then…

Castiel swallowed. He’d think of a way round it. Say that they took the photos as a prank. Pretend nothing about it was real.

In a way, it wouldn’t even be a lie, because – Castiel glanced over at Dean again, a twist in his chest – because it wasn’t a real marriage. They weren’t planning to stay together. The promises they’d made to each other the night before – the ones that Castiel was telling himself he couldn’t remember, so he wouldn’t have to think about them – those promises meant nothing. The lawyers’ business card was still in his pocket, and on the plane he was going to write out an email to them.

The cars eased into the airport. Castiel stared out the tinted window, trying to stay calm. Nothing felt real, from the hurly-burly banter of the other bachelors in the car to the shining chrome of the airport entrance.

The hustle onto the plane was a blur, diplomatic seals and documents granting them a queue-less path through. Castiel dragged his suitcase, trying to hold up his end of a conversation with Garth and doing a bad job at it. He kept looking over at Dean, trying to figure out a way to speak to him alone, even if it was only for a few minutes.

“You okay, Castiel?” Garth said good-naturedly. “You seem kinda spaced out.”

“Um,” Castiel said, “my apologies. My hangover…”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Garth said, waving off his explanation. “My whole body still thinks it’s on that bucking bronco at the third bar last night.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes as he searched his memory.

“Oh, y’all were gone by then,” Garth said.

“Oh.” Castiel wasn’t sure what to say. Instinctively he wanted to apologise, but he had no idea what he’d be apologising for.

“I’m glad you two had a good time hanging out last night, anyway,” Garth said. “Probably the best way for Dean to really enjoy himself.”

They stepped out of the airport building and onto the tarmac, the sun glaring down at them. Castiel squinted, looking over at Garth as they walked the short way to the private airplane ready to take them home.

“The best way?” he repeated.

“Sure.”

“I don’t think that’s true. Dean enjoys being around a lot of people.”

“Right,” Garth said. “But, you know.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he lifted one shoulder a little and let it fall, and the conversation died. Internally, Castiel shook his head. Had no one else noticed that Dean had been completely ignoring him for the past few months? They’d gone from hanging out at least once every week to never seeing each other at all. Whatever different things it was that Dean had been filling his time with, he’d have probably enjoyed those last night – a lot more than spending time with Castiel.

What those things could be… Castiel closed his eyes briefly against the thought of Dean’s fiancée, and the time they must have been spending together. What those things could be, Castiel wasn’t sure.

He left his suitcase with an attendant outside the plane to be stowed in the hold and climbed the short metal stairway up to the plane’s interior. He could hear Ed and Harry talking loudly about coming back to the city soon, to general calls of agreement. Castiel listened for Dean’s voice among them, but didn’t hear it.

The plane that belonged to the Crown Prince of United Corelia was simple inside. Castiel took a seat on one of the comfortable but plain faux-leather chairs, trying not to be hyper-aware of where Dean was going to sit, trying not to let his heart sink when Dean didn’t sit next to him.

Of course Dean couldn’t sit next to him. They had a secret to cover up.

And of course Dean probably wouldn’t have wanted to sit next to him anyway. Dean hadn’t wanted to see him in ages, before this bachelor party. What would they have to talk about?

The chair beside Castiel stayed empty as the rest of the plane filled up. Castiel reached for his phone, doing his best to look unbothered. They weren’t all at school in Corelia anymore – it didn’t matter if Gordon sat next to Dean or Dean sat next to Ash, it just didn’t matter.

Even still. With his old schoolfriends, there was always the sense that he was doing something wrong, and he just hadn’t figured out what it was yet. When they left him alone like this, it was hard not to let it confirm the suspicion. In some indefinable way they seemed to all find him just a bit different to them. And Dean would normally have been the one to come over and fall into the chair beside him and pull him into the group, but –

But here they were. Castiel pulled up his Notes app on his phone and started drafting the email to the lawyers, as the engines on the plane hummed louder.

“Seatbelts on for take-off, everyone,” said a pleasant voice. Castiel glanced up to see Jo Harvelle, wearing a smart uniform, checking each of them to make sure they were fastened securely into their seats. Castiel had forgotten that Jo worked for the royal family, these days. In his mind, she was still the girl who’d ripped Dean’s Led Zeppelin poster in his room, at his birthday party in year seven.

“Looking good, Jo,” said Ash.

“One of us has to, Ash.”

“How’s your mom? Still working at the newspaper?”

“And still glad she’s seeing less of you.” Jo passed Castiel, and gave him a small smile. “All okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” Castiel said.

“Great.” Jo headed up towards the front of the plane to speak to the pilot. Now that everyone was fixed in their places, Castiel thought he could take a glance around the cabin without looking as though he was desperately hoping someone would come to sit with him.

Sam was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t surprising – on their trip over, he’d spent the entire flight up front in the cockpit with the pilots. Charlie was sitting over next to Dean, facing Gordon and Ash. Ed, Harry, and Garth had filled another set of four seats that faced each other, the spare chair filled by a big bag with a bottle of wine poking out of the top.

Castiel looked at the bag for a half-second longer than he meant to. Apparently, it had been judged a better companion for the trip than him. As he turned back around to face his own lonely set of empty seats, Castiel saw out of the corner of his eye that Dean had been watching him.

The engines roared. Castiel closed his eyes, letting the sound and the hum in his seat fill up his senses. He silently heaped gratitude onto the hotel staff who’d brought him the cheeseburger this morning, and taken the edge off his nausea. He didn’t want to imagine trying to go through a plane taking off still feeling as bad as he had when he’d first woken up.

As the plane started to roll forward, Castiel lifted up his phone again and tried to concentrate on his draft.

_Dear Milton & Milton,_

_I am writing because I received your card from an attendant at the chapel attached to the Starboard Hotel, Las Vegas…_

The plane began to taxi down the runway, picking up speed. Castiel felt the familiar tug in his stomach, heard the rest of the guys around him chattering over the engines’ bellowing.

_I took part in a marriage that isn’t…_

Castiel stopped, his thumbs hovering over his phone. What wasn’t it? Acceptable? Real? Permanent?

The wheels of the plane lifted off. As they rose into the sky, stark sunlight glared in through the plane’s windows. Castiel squinted against it, and tried to keep writing.

_I took part in a marriage that can’t last._

No, that sounded too dramatic. He needed to strike a more clinical tone. If he came across as conflicted about the wedding, maybe they wouldn’t help him undo it.

_I took part in a wedding that was a mistake. I do not want to be married to the person in question._

That sounded decisive. Yes, that was better. He told the pit in his gut to fill itself up. He had to get this done.

Castiel kept typing away as the plane gained height, tuning out the sounds of his fellow passengers talking and laughing. He connected to the in-flight WiFi and briefly lost time scrolling through Twitter, before blinking himself back to a sharp focus and continuing to write his email.

The ring in his pocket felt as though it was burning a hole. It would have probably been a better idea, safer, to have ditched it in the hotel. Or dropped it in the trash at the airport. But it was still very much in Castiel’s pocket, all the same.

“Psst.”

Castiel’s mouth twitched slightly to one side. That noise. It hadn’t changed since they were seven.

“Hey.”

The whisper next, of course. Castiel turned around in his seat, and met Dean’s eyes.

Dean nodded his head down at Castiel’s phone.

“Whatcha typing?” he mouthed. Castiel’s eyes drifted from Dean over to Charlie, who was buried in her phone with headphones on, and then over to Gordon and Ash, who were sleeping.

“Email,” Castiel mouthed back.

“Why?”

“Lawyers.”

Dean frowned.

“What?”

“Law-yers,” Castiel mouthed more slowly.

Dean’s frown only deepened.

“Why?”

Castiel knew he should tell him. It would be so easy to just mouth it across the cabin right now – _we’re still married –_ but somehow the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he found himself holding eye contact with Dean for slightly too long, reaching for something to say that wasn’t a confession.

“Tell you later,” he finally managed, and reached to unclip his seatbelt, and stood up. He couldn’t just turn around and go back to typing – Dean would come over to talk to him, insist on knowing what was going on, and Castiel didn’t want to tell him. He had to get away. Too quickly, he started to walk. He headed towards the back, brushing aside the curtain that kept one of the more functional parts of the plane hidden from the minimalist luxury space for the passengers.

Jo Harvelle looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. She had a knife in her hand, and she was chopping something green on a cutting board.

“Oh, shit,” she said. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Castiel said, already backing out again through the curtain.

“No, no, you’re fine. Can I help you with something?”

“I just, um…”

Once again, Castiel was left with nothing to say. He just what? He just had needed an escape, any escape, from having to tell the truth to Dean, because they were married, or rather, they were _still_ married, and –

“Can I get you some… water?” Jo said, her head tilted slightly to one side.

“Um. No, I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble. I just wanted to…”

He was saved from the awkwardness of a second long silence by a head poking through the curtain behind him, sticking over Castiel’s shoulder – Dean, appearing suddenly. For the second time, Castiel watched Jo jump, and this time she dropped the knife. Castiel swooped for it, and in the small space he managed to catch the handle in between his finger and thumb.

Jo made a noise of dismay as Castiel straightened and handed her the blade.

“Thanks,” she said. “Jesus. Shit. Uh, Sirs, is there something I could get you, or…” _Or could you kindly get the hell out of my part of this plane,_ her silence said eloquently.

“Sorry, Jo,” Dean said. There wasn’t room in the confined space for Castiel to turn and look at him, but he could hear the wince in his voice. “Actually, do you think Cas ‘n’ me could get a minute?”

For the briefest half of a half of a second, Castiel watched Jo’s eyes flick between them – and then she smiled professionally.

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll just – uh – yeah.” She moved to squeeze past Castiel, who shifted around her as she moved and then flattened himself to the wall so that Dean could fit in with him behind the curtain. Jo made little noises of polite, embarrassed humour as she and Dean were briefly squashed together, and then she whisked the curtain closed behind her.

Castiel looked at Dean, who audibly breathed out, and then met his eyes.

“So?” Dean said.

“This part of the plane could definitely be bigger,” Castiel said, trying to distract him.

He didn’t want to tell Dean. He didn’t want to go back to tension and panic and desperate planning. He wanted to leave that behind in the hotel room where they’d had their shared freak-out and burgers. He wanted things between them to be normal.

As though reading his mind, Dean’s face relaxed into a smirk. He squared up to Castiel, so that they were just a couple of feet apart in the narrow space.

“What,” he said, “you don’t love this?”

“No,” Castiel said, deadpan.

His heart was pounding, he could feel it in his chest. And it wasn’t that this was abnormal – this was how they were, getting into each other’s personal space, almost playing chicken with who would back away first. It had always used to be Castiel accidentally doing it, until Dean had started making a joke out of it.

Only now they weren’t just two friends, making jokes.

Now they were two married men.

Dean seemed to catch something in Castiel’s eyes, because he leaned back with his hands raised.

“Weird now?” he said.

“Maybe.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“No, I…” Castiel broke off.

“The email,” Dean said bracingly. “Lawyers? What’s going on?”

Castiel breathed out.

“We’re still married,” he said. And the tiny galley of the plane suddenly felt a lot tinier. Dean blinked twice, quickly, his mouth falling open.

“Huh,” he said.

“I spoke to the attendant at the chapel. He said everything was online already and it was locked in.”

“Oh,” Dean said. “Right.” Castiel couldn’t get a read on his expression. He didn’t look angry, at least.

“But he gave me the details of some lawyers,” Castiel continued, “who are apparently good at this kind of thing, so…”

Dean’s blank face cracked into a sceptical raise of the eyebrows.

“Wonder how much commission he gets from the lawyers for every client out of that chapel,” Dean said.

“Oh. You… think he was lying? He could have actually annulled it?” Castiel paused, thinking. “I hadn’t considered that.”

Dean shrugged.

“It’s okay. Most likely he was telling the truth. And if these lawyers can help, then we’re in the clear anyway. Annulled, all good.” There was some kind of hard edge to Dean’s voice, now, some small brutality, that Castiel couldn’t understand.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I’ll send the email.”

“Okay. I mean… you good doing that?” Dean said. “My family do have people who do this crap for us. Charlie. Or if not her, just like… fixers, or whatever you wanna call them, I guess?” Like he always had been, Dean seemed uncomfortable bringing up his family’s wealth and the things that came with it.

“That wasn’t the plan,” Castiel said. “We said the fewer people who know, the safer we are. I think that’s still true.”

“Right. Just… what if the lawyers you’ve found are the ones who leak it?”

“I was assured they’re the height of discretion. I’ll do some research on them before I tell them who you are, though.”

“Yeah. That sounds good. I just…” Dean’s eyes dropped to the floor. “My mom can’t know, man. She just… the royal wedding, she’d…” He broke off.

At the mention of Dean’s upcoming marriage to someone else, Castiel could feel his stomach turning again.

“I know,” he said blankly. “If you think it’s better to turn it over to Charlie or someone else, they’d be able to keep it secret better, we can do that.”

“Charlie’s told my mom on us before,” Dean said.

“Really?”

“You remember. Just because she lost us in San Marino, and apparently that was a big enough deal for her to have to say something. So, this… this would also probably, definitely, be a big enough deal too. I think we should keep it with just us knowing.”

“I agree. If you trust me with it, I think I’ve got this.”

Dean’s managed a tight smile.

“Well,” he said. “It’s only been, what, a couple decades that I’ve known you. So honestly, not sure about the trust thing.”

“I see.” Castiel knew it was a bad idea. It was objectively a terrible idea. But Dean was joking with him and this was how they joked, so he looked into Dean’s eyes and held the gaze in the way that they did. “No trust. So, you have no idea what I might be about to do to you, right now.”

The words came as naturally as the challenging expression on his face. It would have been such a typical thing to do, not so long ago. To stare at Dean like this.

But now, Dean searched Castiel’s face. He opened his mouth, and then closed it.

The moment drew out. In that moment, in Dean’s eyes, Castiel could have sworn that he saw something. Some look, some expression that made Castiel’s own chest feel open and painful, and –

“Yeah,” Dean said suddenly, bracingly. “I get it. It’s weird now.”

Castiel blinked and looked away quickly.

“Yes,” he said shortly. “Weird.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna – unless there was anything else you, uh, needed to –”

“No, that’s – that’s everything.”

Without another word, Dean swung back the curtain, and left.

Castiel stood for a long moment, alone.

Had that been… something? It had _felt_ like something.

Not that it mattered. Not that they could do anything about it, even if it had been. And it was probably just another one of those moments that Castiel read too much into, anyway. But still, the way that Dean had looked at him –

When Castiel returned to his seat, he closed his eyes, and all he wanted to think about was Dean’s face in that moment. Soft and surprised and some other things that Castiel didn’t understand.

He settled deeper into his chair. He could still feel his heart pounding. It gently slowed as the minutes unraveled, with Castiel still thinking about Dean’s expression. And the way he’d leaned in close, at the start.

But Castiel knew how Dean felt about him. He _knew._ Nothing had ever happened between them, and Dean had never been one to be shy about who he liked – so if Dean had ever felt any particular type of way about Castiel, then Castiel would have known.

And it was hard, and it was confusing. The things Castiel did because of how he felt about Dean – Dean did those things as a friend. The way they got into each other’s space, the way their eyes held sometimes, just… just stupid things. Forgettable, to Dean. And then here was Castiel, still thinking about a half-second’s worth of expression on Dean’s face twenty minutes later.

He tried to drift off, but sleep wouldn’t come. The urge to look back over his shoulder at Dean was insistent. Would Dean be looking at him? Would Dean meet his eyes? Castiel’s thoughts were wanting to play out the same old scenarios – he’d used to imagine at college that Dean would burst in the door of one of his lectures, grab his hand, and pull him out of the room in front of everyone murmuring and staring. And the two of them would only get as far as the corridor outside the lecture hall before Dean would swing around to face him and Castiel would put his hands on Dean’s shoulders and gently but firmly push him back against the wall, and then –

Castiel drew in a sharp breath, and opened his eyes.

He was thinking these thoughts about a man who was engaged to someone else.

And yes, admittedly, that man was his husband. But since the husband situation wasn’t permanent, it still felt wrong to be picturing… that.

A flash of Dean against the wall, his face soft and surprised and something else –

Yes. That. Wrong.

Castiel breathed out. He took out his phone, and pulled up his emails, and read back over the email he’d drafted to send to the lawyers. It was a reminder of the reality of his situation. No lecture-hall break-out and then make-out sessions. Nothing all that deep between them, not on both sides. No importance to the look on Dean’s face, just now. They were just two people who’d made a mistake, and were getting it fixed through the proper channels.

And once that was done, a part of Castiel doubted he’d be hearing from Dean again. After all, the past few months before this Vegas trip had been completely silent. None of their usual calls or time spent together. Castiel had found out about the details of the engagement in the news; Dean hadn’t even told him in person. Just too wrapped up in the new romance.

At least, that was what Castiel had thought, before Dean had leaned over to him in a Las Vegas bar and asked if they could please get married so that he wouldn’t have to go through with it. But Castiel had tried to bring that up with him in the hotel room, and had been summarily shut down. It must have been a brief case of cold feet, and that was it.

After all, Dean and his fiancée had to be close. Dean hadn’t seemed to even need Castiel’s friendship since the two of them had got engaged, so this fiancée had to be _closer_ than close with Dean. A relationship with her apparently made one with Castiel completely unnecessary. She had to be giving Dean everything Castiel ever had, as well as…

No. That wasn’t something Castiel wanted to linger on. Even though he cut off the thought, he felt a wave of something hot and prickling and furious roll over him.

He had no right. No right at all to feel that way. Dean had only ever been his friend.

Except perhaps, just for now, maybe he had the right to feel a little cheated on by his own husband. Castiel felt a sardonic smile curve up the corners of his mouth the barest quarter-inch.

It was worrying, how easy it was to imagine – they’d land back in Corelia, and some kind of royal party would be waiting for Dean, and of course his fiancée would be there. And as the bachelor group crossed the tarmac to reach them, Castiel would walk close to Dean and say, _you have a husband now. No cheating._ And Dean would look back at him, and then he’d grin, and he’d say, _oh, yeah?_ And get in close to Castiel. And then Castiel would reach out and put his hand on the back of Dean’s neck, and pull him closer, and –

No right. He had _no_ right. All wrong.

What was actually going to happen would be simpler. They were going to go their separate ways at the airport, and that would be it. Castiel would text Dean when the annulment came through, and he’d be present at the wedding. And then it would be over.

There was a part of Castiel, something that felt deep-rooted and intrinsic, that rebelled. Surely he and Dean couldn’t ever really be over. Surely there’d always be another moment for Castiel to overanalyse. Another expression for him to read too much into. Another gaze between them, that would linger and then hold.

Castiel risked a glance over his shoulder. Dean was looking past a sleeping Charlie and out the window of the plane, but as soon as Castiel turned, he glanced over.

The gaze wavered, and then held. They stared at each other for a moment across the cabin. Dean visibly swallowed.

Castiel turned back around, and breathed out.

Dean gave that to him in friendship and nothing else. So why couldn’t they keep having it, even after the wedding to his fiancée? Why would any of it have to be over?

It was all a mess. Castiel didn’t know what to think, what to hope for.

He fidgeted with his phone in his hands, and then steadied his nerves, eyed over the email to the lawyers once more, and hit _Send._


	5. Chapter 5

Six hours later when they arrived at the airport in Mariport, capital city of United Corelia, the weather outside the plane was beautiful. A soft dawn painted the sky outside the plane windows pink and orange with strands of purple cloud.

Castiel gathered his bags groggily. The hangover had made reappearances throughout the plane ride, which he’d tried to temper with asking for more water and food – but his head was still pounding and the only thing holding him upright was picturing his own bed in his own room. Just half an hour or so away, now.

Around him, the other bachelors were grabbing their things, the raucous high spirits of earlier slimmed down to quiet grins and winks now that they were back in their own country and were expected to behave. Sam emerged from up front, giving Castiel a tired smile as he passed on the way to get his own things. As its engines hummed lower and lower, the plane had the dim, hushed feel of impending jet lag.

“No,” Castiel heard Dean say, breaking through his thoughts.

“Dean…” It was Charlie, talking back to him. Their voices were only audible over the grumble of the plane as its engines died because what had obviously started as a muttered conversation was getting more heated.

“It’s all already settled, anyway.”

“You can’t just refuse to meet her.”

He heard Dean mutter something else, too low to be heard. Internally, Castiel shrugged. Whoever ‘she’ was, she was probably some stuffy head of state Dean didn’t want to share a boring afternoon with.

Jo opened the plane door, letting the warm Corelian air into the cabin. Castiel took in a deep breath. Just half an hour. His bed was waiting. He was woozy and a bit nauseated, but he could do this.

Ash left the plane first, closely followed by Gordon and the other bachelors. Castiel waited for them to pass, one hand gripping his phone and the other his passport. When the others were all gone, Castiel followed them out. Dean was right in front of him.

They’d left this country as estranged best friends. They’d come back married.

 _That’s my husband,_ Castiel thought to himself, looking ahead of him at Dean’s back, his shoulders, the short hairs on the nape of his neck. He thought it because he could, because it was true, and because he wouldn’t be able to think it for very long. _That’s my husband, Dean._

He navigated the steps down from the plane, careful not to trip in the fading light. As he’d imagined, there was a carpet laid out for them to walk across to a group that had gathered to welcome them, and he was suddenly very aware of the fact that he hadn’t combed his hair since the hotel room in Las Vegas. A camera flashed from a second group behind a rope, and Castiel felt his self-consciousness double.

They began to walk across the carpet, a light breeze buffeting at them playfully – and the group of bachelors seemed to have their mood lifted in front of the cameras, smiling and waving and calling out to the welcome party. Harry Spangler grabbed Dean’s wrist and raised it in the air, which Castiel watched Dean allow for a few moments with tension in his neck before pulling away.

Tentatively, Castiel reached forward with one hand, and touched Dean’s shoulder. Dean tensed for a moment, turning – and then saw Castiel, and seemed to relax back into the touch even as they walked.

“You’ll come back to the palace, right?” Dean said.

In the split second before he answered, Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes and felt the promise of his own bed, in his own room, be broken. He dropped his hand away from Dean’s shoulder.

“Of course,” he said. He didn’t add, _if you want me to._ Obviously Dean did want Castiel to come, or he wouldn’t have asked. And drawing attention to the fact that Castiel was only going at Dean’s request would make Dean uncomfortable. He’d always hated asking for things that weren’t objectively necessary.

“Okay,” Dean said. He seemed to unwind a little further. “Okay.”

They reached the welcoming party as the cameras flashed and clicked. The royals of United Corelia had never been ones for rituals or formality as long as Castiel had known them, but the bachelors still lined up to briefly pay their respects the Queen, who was wearing a chic coat and a smile as she greeted her sons and their friends one by one.

Castiel waited his turn with his heart beginning to thud faster. Mary was poised as always, her eyes sharp. He felt like the nine-year-old boy she’d once caught and told off for lying about where Dean was hiding. That had been only a little secret, a little lie, because Dean had just been hiding in the fifth bedroom behind the wardrobe to avoid eating a salad. Now, there was an entire wedding to conceal.

It still somehow felt as though Dean was running and hiding, and Castiel was covering.

“Dean,” Castiel heard the Queen say to her eldest as Dean bowed, and then reached out to hug her. “Oof. You had a good trip?”

“Good enough,” Dean muttered. Mary reached up to touch his cheek. As she met his eyes, something in her smile seemed to waver. She saw it, then, Castiel thought.

It seemed unlikely she’d guess that it was the fact that he was both engaged and married, to two different people. A situation that would worry anyone.

Castiel felt his thudding heart kick up a notch. He couldn’t let anything slip. Neither of them could. Mary was kind and she was understanding, but she was also the ruler of a country and Dean was the son who was supposed to make a good match when he married. She wouldn’t be angry if she found out, Castiel didn’t think. She’d just be sad, and disappointed, and that would break Dean all the more.

“You all didn’t get up to anything too wild, I hope,” Mary said, as she turned away from Dean and looked at Castiel. He met her perceptive blue eyes, and cleared his throat. The ring in his pocket felt heavy.

“Nothing too wild,” he managed to echo. “Your Majesty.”

“Well, I hope it wasn’t too boring, either.”

“Definitely not,” Castiel said, with more feeling than he’d intended. Mary raised an eyebrow, and Castiel could sense Dean’s alarm in his peripheral vision. “I tried a drink called a Poison Bomb,” he added quickly. “It didn’t agree with me.”

The Queen laughed, and Castiel felt Dean relax. He tried not to breathe out too visibly, himself.

“That sounds dangerous,” she said. “There’s your usual room prepared for you, like Dean asked. Shall we? I’m guessing you wouldn’t mind sleeping off the… Bombs.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Castiel agreed courteously, and bowed his head to her as she turned away from him. The group straggled towards the cars that awaited them in sleek dark resplendence.

 _“Definitely not,”_ Dean muttered sarcastically in Castiel’s ear as they walked.

“Shut up.”

The cars pulled up to the Mariport Palace, and Castiel got out with his heart heavy and his eyes heavier. All he wanted to do was sleep. On the ride from the airport Dean had sat beside him, the pair of them quiet and subdued like the time they’d had to wait outside their headmaster’s office in primary school for throwing paint at a wall.

In a haze, they crossed the main courtyard and headed into the residential side of the palace. Castiel crossed a wide, opulent hallway and climbed three staircases, the slightly dusty smell of the thick carpets familiar in his nose. Dean was close behind him, and more footsteps followed after. When Castiel reached the high-ceilinged corridor that led to his usual room, he turned to say goodbye to Dean and saw behind him that it was Charlie bringing up the rear.

Dean met his eyes.

“See you later then,” he said, almost hesitantly.

“See you later.”

“You go ahead and get some sleep, Dean,” Charlie said, coming to stand beside them. “I just want a word with Castiel.”

Castiel felt a wave of alarm sweep over him, and watched it be mirrored by the flash of concern across Dean’s face.

“It’s okay,” Charlie said, sounding exasperated. “It’s nothing. Just arrangements for tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Dean said. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but then appeared to give an internal shrug, and walked away.

Castiel, whose mind felt like a worn-out sponge, tried to prepare himself mentally to fend off any awkward questions as he turned to Charlie. She watched after Dean for a few seconds, and then looked up at him.

“Listen,” she said. “You know I wear a lot of hats when it comes to Dean.”

With a blink, Castiel had a brief picture of her in a stetson, before realising what she meant.

“Yes,” he said. Charlie had started off working just as a temporary assistant for the royal family, and through fast friendship with Dean had soon found herself working as his public relations manager, and then his security liaison, and finally his general advisor. Mary lived in a state of permanent exasperation about it, but Charlie was the only person Dean had ever vaguely cooperated with in any of those roles.

“I just… the whole wedding thing…” Charlie drifted off, while Castiel felt his stomach drop. He tried to hold his nerve while he figured out what to say, but then she went on, “He’s just not been himself since the Queen arranged the match. I thought he’d be excited because, facing facts, Lisa is incredibly hot and really nice. Not that he’d know that yet, I guess.”

Castiel frowned. Lisa. That was the name of Dean’s fiancée. There was new information here to try to take in with a brain made of fuzzy felt, and he knew he had to be missing some context.

“Um,” he said. “Why wouldn’t he know that?”

Charlie looked surprised.

“Oh,” she said. “Because he hasn’t met her yet.”

Castiel went still. He felt his heart rise, and then fall, and then rise again. Somehow he seemed to have forgotten how to swallow.

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “I know. I mean, they met a couple of times as kids, I think, but not for like, a decade or two. He’s just flat-out refused to see her for months. I’ve been meeting with her to try to explain that he’s just nervous, but I’m really not the best at explaining things like that, and I don’t think she’s buying it, and every time he skips another party or event that she’s supposed to be at or refuses to set a time for a date, it just gets more awkward… ugh. Anyway, I thought you knew about all this.”

“No. I didn’t know.” There were a lot of things he needed to be thinking about, but all Castiel’s mind could fix on was the single fact that Dean hadn’t been spending the past few months locked too tightly in love’s romantic chokehold to pay attention to Castiel. He’d been too busy running from it, instead.

“Mm. Well. I just wanted to speak to you, ‘cause like, honestly, I’m kind of running out of ideas. The wedding’s in less than a week and obviously Lisa just wants to meet Dean before the ceremony, to make sure that things are going to work out between them, get a sense of what he’s like. In an ideal world, they’d have spent all this time since the announcement getting to know each other, and this marriage would be happening off the back of at least a friendship, but…”

“Yes,” Castiel said, having only taken in less than half of what she’d said. The corridor they were standing in was slowly getting brighter as, outside, the clouds burned away under the warm Corelian sun.

“So, what do you think?” Charlie looked at him expectantly. Castiel stared back at her.

“Um. About which part,” he said.

“What to do to get him to meet her,” Charlie prompted impatiently. “I’ve tried everything. Persuasion, arguments, bribery, blackmail. Nothing’s worked. But with you, I thought… you know, because it’s different with you two. Maybe you could convince him to speak to her, at least.”

“You should talk to Sam,” Castiel said uncomfortably. “He knows Dean better than anyone.”

“Oh, done that. Sam won’t get involved.”

“I’d like to also not get involved, then,” Castiel said, jumping on Sam’s precedent like a drowning man making the leap for a raft.

“Please,” Charlie said, her face falling. “Castiel, please. He’s got to do this. Otherwise he’s going to get stuck in this marriage with someone who hates him for completely snubbing her, and that’s if the marriage even goes ahead at all. And Lisa could be such a great match for him, she’s well-connected and she’s… yeah, you know, super hot. Just really beautiful. And really nice, she’s so nice.”

Castiel swallowed hard.

“If Dean doesn’t want to get married –” he began.

“All he has to say is that he doesn’t want to do it,” Charlie said, “and you know I’d do anything to help him get out of it. But he won’t break it off, either.”

“You’ve asked him if he wants to?” Castiel said, feeling himself deflate a little.

“Of course I have. He says he’s going to go through with it, he’s ready to get married, but he just won’t actually meet the person he’s supposed to do it with.”

 _Oh, he’s ready to get married,_ Castiel wanted to say. _That is, he was ready on the night when I married him._

The sudden urge to tell Charlie, to share the news like it was a good thing, was briefly and incongruously overwhelming. _I married him. He’s married to me. He’s my husband._

But apparently Dean had told Charlie he didn’t want to break off his engagement, which had to mean that he did want to marry Lisa, and there was just some kind of block in his head about meeting her. Castiel had run into Dean’s blocks before. They’d once spent an entire year avoiding one particular boy at school because Dean was supposed to talk to him about Drama Club but he didn’t want to.

But he _had_ wanted to join the club and take part in the school play, because it had been a Western, and he’d wanted to wear a serape.

And now Lisa was Dean’s new serape.

Castiel looked down into Charlie’s hopeful face.

“Please,” she said. “Anything you can do. Even if you just manage to get him somewhere and I’ve already organised that Lisa’s there too…”

“I’d have to tell him she’s going to be there,” Castiel said. “We can’t ambush him.” Even though it would probably be the only way to get the meeting to actually happen, Castiel couldn’t help thinking. Once Dean had decided not to do something and his heels were dug in, there was no talking him down.

Charlie waved a hand at him.

“Do whatever it is you normally do,” she said. “Because you’re the only one who might help who he even slightly listens to, so.”

Castiel wanted to disagree. He wanted to tell Charlie that Dean hadn’t so much as messaged him to talk about the weather in the past few months, so he clearly wasn’t that keen to listen to anything Castiel had to say. He wanted to ask Charlie if she knew why Dean might have just dropped him, and then married him, and then invited him back to the palace.

More than wanting to do those things, though, Castiel really wanted to go to sleep.

He made a show of yawning widely, and Charlie took the hint.

“Anyway. I’ll leave you to get some rest,” she said. He nodded, and began to turn away. “And hey, I never said, but… thank you for keeping him safe in Vegas. At least I know he didn’t get up to anything wild if he was with you.” She reached out and punched him on the arm, gave him a grin, and then walked away down the sunny corridor.

Castiel stared after her, realising for the first time the true usefulness of having a reputation as a lonely and slightly stuffy nerd.


	6. Chapter 6

A loud, cheerful jingle filled Castiel’s bedroom, and jolted him awake. For a few dazed seconds, he stared around the dark and curtained room with a sense of déjà vu; apparently, his life was now waking up in strange rooms and not understanding what was going on.

He finally located the source of the jingling – his own phone, lit up beside his pillow. Squinting, Castiel swiped across the screen and put the phone to his ear.

“Hello,” he said, his voice low and rough with dehydration.

“Mmph,” said a sleepy voice on the other end of the phone.

“Dean?”

“Mm.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“Mmmm. Need to talk. About the. Thing,” Dean said. “Come to my room.”

“But I’m –”

Dean hung up.

“Still… sleeping,” Castiel muttered to no one. He lowered the phone, and put his head back on the pillow. For a second, he let himself imagine going back to sleep. But the image of Dean pushed into the front of his mind, waiting for him, and with a groan Castiel rolled out of bed.

He reached over and picked up his phone again, this time swiping across the screen to check his notifications. Just a message from his coworker at the library, Meg, about a new TV show she was getting into and wanted him to watch, and several texts in his work groupchat. It felt good to be able to swipe away that notification, and look forward to the ten more days that he’d booked off. Working in a small library was mostly living the dream, but he’d had a suspicion that after Las Vegas, he wouldn’t feel like working for a while. He thanked his past self for being more right than he could have possibly known.

The clock on his phone told him that it was noon. He’d slept a fair few hours, at least. And he was up early enough that he might be able to sleep tonight, too.

He pushed his feet into the slippers that had been laid out for him, and put on the dressing gown with the royal monogram on the breast pocket. For a moment he lingered, looking down his pillow – and then he reached underneath it, and drew out an envelope and a gold band. It seemed safer to have the photos of the wedding and the ring itself with him, rather than lying around the room where anyone could find it and he wouldn’t even know.

Letting his feet walk him to Dean’s room without paying much attention, Castiel stowed the pictures and the ring in the pocket of his gown. He had to find some way to store them safely, or dispose of them. They could be explained away as a joke, yes, but all it would take would be someone then going on to check up on the legal record of their marriage, and he and Dean would be discovered.

Blearily, he pushed at the left-hand side of a pair of double doors, and walked into Dean’s bedroom. It was all just as he remembered it – the wide windows, the glass door that led out onto the balcony, the guitars on the walls and the shabby posters over the bed. One of them was ripped, a Led Zeppelin one, legacy of Jo Harvelle in year seven. The room as a whole was an odd mix of modern stylings with some decorative hangovers from Dean’s teen years.

In the bed was a lump that Castiel recognised as Dean himself. Approaching the bed, Castiel heard the regular, slow breathing of sleep, and rolled his eyes.

Sure enough, when he reached the head of the bed, he saw Dean with his eyes closed. One of Dean’s hands was curled around his phone, thumb still poised over a screen showing Castiel’s number, as though he’d made the call and then dropped back to sleep as soon as he’d hung up.

One of the windows was open, and it blew a light breeze through the curtains and across the room. Castiel breathed in the fresh air, and looked down at Dean. He should wake him. But there had always been something about Dean sleeping that Castiel could never quite manage to disturb. The Prince of Corelia had always slept late and slept badly for as long as Castiel had known him, except on the nights when he and Castiel had crashed together after long evenings of movie-watching or drinking or talking.

And his face was always so soft in sleep. Castiel tilted his head. For a moment, while Dean rested, it felt safe to think it again.

_That’s my husband. Dean is my husband. He’s married to me. I’m married to him._

Maybe there was a kinder world where being Dean’s husband meant that Castiel could take off his slippers and his dressing gown and move around the bed, and slide under the covers, and slip his arm around Dean’s waist. And Dean would grumble in protest, but he’d shuffle backwards so that they were lying together, and when Castiel put a kiss to the back of Dean’s neck, Dean would tense and then relax into the touch – and then reach back a hand to push it clumsily through Castiel’s hair, and Castiel would grab it and lock their fingers together, and Dean would turn around so that they were facing each other, and –

Dean shifted slightly in sleep, and opened his eyes, and then jumped.

“Jesus, Cas,” he snapped, leaping up to halfway to sitting, and then closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck. Okay. Hello.”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said. This had happened enough times that he didn’t usually feel embarrassed, but there was something about being caught mid-fantasy that had his cheeks heating up. He moved to the foot of the bed and sat there, trying to act like he normally would as Dean stretched and blinked.

“How are you?” Castiel asked him.

“Urgh.” Dean made a few faces in quick succession and swallowed with obvious distaste, before reaching over to his bedside table and grabbing for the glass of water there. Castiel remembered belatedly that Dean had always had more trouble with long hangovers.

“I’m great,” Dean managed after a few long gulps.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, uh. I wondered whether you’d heard back from the lawyers.”

“Oh.” Castiel patted his dressing gown pockets, and then frowned. “I left my phone in my room.”

“Smart.”

“Just because it’s before your coffee,” Castiel said, and left it at that when Dean waved him off with a vaguely apologetic look on his face. “I didn’t have a notification when I checked just now, though.”

“Ah. It’s okay.”

Castiel looked at him. Dean was staring down into his water cup as though hoping to find answers inside it, his soft t-shirt hanging loose over him. He’d lost weight, Castiel thought, over the few months that they hadn’t been talking. It hadn’t been so noticeable when he’d not been in light pyjamas, but he was thinner than he usually liked to be.

Something was off. It was on Dean’s downcast face, it was in his body. Castiel saw it clearly, now. And he would think it was the wedding to Castiel himself that was causing the trouble – only, that had been a far more recent development. This change in Dean seemed to have settled in longer ago than Las Vegas.

Dean slurped his water.

“Dean,” Castiel said, and then stopped. He didn’t know what he wanted to ask. Charlie’s pleading came back to him, asking him to please try to get Dean to meet Lisa. He swallowed. It wasn’t his style to jump in and tell Dean what to do out of nowhere, and apart from that, he honestly didn’t think he had the stomach to tell Dean to go and romance someone else.

Dean looked at him through the slowly lifting veil of his sleepiness, waiting.

“Is there… anything you want to talk about?” Castiel said eventually.

Breaking eye contact, Dean took another sip of water and then set his water glass back down on the bedside table. Castiel watched him take a breath in, and then let it go.

“So, Charlie probably told you I didn’t meet her yet. Or not since we were kids,” he said gruffly. “Lisa. My, uh, who I’m supposed to marry.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. He wasn’t going to hide anything.

“What else did she say?”

“She said… she thinks you are ready to be married,” Castiel said. Dean’s face creased, looking conflicted.

“Yeah,” he said.

“She said she thinks you just need to meet Lisa.”

Now Dean’s face dropped.

“Right,” he said.

“Dean,” Castiel said, shifting up the bed. “If you don’t want to marry her, you don’t have to.”

With a shake of his head, Dean said,

“I’ll screw everything up if I don’t.”

 _You’ll screw me up if you do,_ Castiel thought.

“Well,” he said aloud, “you’ll definitely screw up our marriage if you do.” He offered Dean a very small, dry smile, and Dean caught his eye and managed a laugh.

“Yeah,” he said. “Wouldn’t want that.”

There was a weight to his tone that made the throwaway sentence come out a little too sincere. As though aware of it, Dean’s expression shifted into worry, but Castiel looked at Dean steadily. For few seconds, they were quiet.

Every instinct was telling Castiel that Dean didn’t want to marry Lisa. But he couldn’t outright say that, could he? He was supposed to be Dean’s friend. Castiel had to try to be supportive no matter what, and if Dean really wanted to get married to Lisa then he could be offended by Castiel saying what he thought. Which wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it wouldn’t be very productive.

So instead, Castiel took an indirect approach.

“Dean… is there something I’m missing?”

Dean’s mouth worked for a second, struggling to put together an answer.

“I don’t know, man,” he said. “There’s… I mean, you know.”

“No,” Castiel said, “I don’t know.”

They were looking at each other again, each trying to read the other’s expression, and Dean seemed as though he was willing Castiel to be able to hear his thoughts without him having to say them at all. As well as they knew each other, Castiel couldn’t do that.

“Listen,” Dean said eventually. “I need some coffee and then some food. Lunch. Maybe after that we can… I don’t know, Cas. I’ve got myself into a whole… thing… and I don’t think there’s a way out. But I don’t wanna…” He broke off, and shook his head. “No. Seriously, coffee. Then we can do this.”

Castiel bit back his protestations. He knew what happened to people who came between Dean and his coffee.

“Alright,” he said. His mind was racing. Dean had got himself into a whole thing? That had to be the impending wedding, didn’t it? Unless it was still just the fact that he was married to Castiel and engaged to Lisa?

“Go get dressed,” Dean said. “Meet me in the hall in a few.”

Castiel bid Dean a temporary goodbye and went back to his room to put some clothes on. When he was done dressing in the clothes that had been laid out for him – perfectly his size and his style, of course, because the palace staff knew him so well by now that dressing him was as easy as dressing one of the royals themselves – he left his room and found Dean waiting outside his door, leaning against the opposite wall in the relative dark and quiet of the side-corridor.

Castiel paused in the doorway. He watched Dean take in his clothes with a quick up-and-down glance.

Dean seemed to be about to say something, and then changed his mind and said,

“Coffee first.”

With a nod, Castiel followed as Dean led the way. His heart was beating hard. Had Dean just checked him out? And the things Dean was saying… the fact that this was all happening while they were married… they were _married._ And the look Dean had given him, on the plane, while they’d been cramped into the galley together…

Castiel was hoping. He wanted to push it away or deny it but it was the truth. He could feel hope burning in him, hope that Dean liked him. Wanted him, in the same way Castiel wanted him. It felt possible. It felt so near that as they walked down the familiar staircases together, Castiel almost reached out and took Dean’s hand.

He wanted to walk this palace hand-in-hand with Dean. And he wanted to pull on Dean’s hand to bring them to a stop, and then kiss Dean, shamelessly – against the wall of a huge, silent, elegant room. Or tucked into the shadow of a corridor. Or sitting on the floor of the empty ballroom, slowly.

At the foot of the stairs, Dean turned back to look at him.

He smirked, and Castiel’s body hurt with wanting to kiss him.

“Hungry?” Dean said.

“Yes,” Castiel managed.

“We’ll go straight to the breakfast room, then. Mom will probably be eating there right about now, she’s stopped using the dining room for lunch. I can get the coffee while we eat.”

“That sounds good.”

It was in the way they walked together across the hallway, through the first reception room and towards the breakfast room. It was in the way their bodies didn’t touch, not once, but were still somehow connected, moving in relation to each other. Castiel had never been so sure that there was something between them. He’d never hoped this much, so much it almost felt like certainty. Maybe the nightmare of the last few months, thinking he’d lost Dean forever, was over. Maybe the marriage that had been arranged for Dean wouldn’t really go ahead. Maybe his wedding to Dean would stand, maybe they wanted each other, maybe it was all going to be okay.

They reached the door of the breakfast room, and Dean went to open it; before he could get to it, though, it flew open, and Charlie froze to a halt in the doorway.

“Dean,” she said, though she sounded a bit strangled, and Castiel couldn’t quite figure out the expression on her face.

“Charlie. Just coming down for some food,” Dean said cheerfully.

“Right,” Charlie said. “Um –”

“‘Scuse me, then,” Dean said, and pushed past her. Charlie met Castiel’s eyes with a look that bordered on frantic, before turning back towards the breakfast room and following Dean in. With sudden trepidation, Castiel took a few steps forward, entering after them.

The scene seemed familiar enough: the grand dining table in the Mariport Palace’s relatively modest breakfast room for daily use was dressed with the usual bouquets of flowers in glass vases, and places had been set with white plates rimmed in gold. The cutlery sparkled in the sunlight that flowed through the tall windows and the door that led out to the terrace, and at the head of the table sat the Queen, looking relaxed in an open-neck collared shirt and her hair set in a loose wave.

Beside her was sitting someone Castiel didn’t know, though her face sparked recognition. She was young, no more than Dean or Castiel’s age, and she had rich dark hair and dark eyes to match. She looked nervous, Castiel thought, but she smiled when Dean, Charlie, and Castiel came in, and stood up from her seat.

“Your Royal Highness,” Charlie said awkwardly to Dean, “may I present her Grace, the Duchess of Someria. Duchess, I present His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Dean of Corelia.”

It was a sloppy introduction, Castiel noticed, having gone through enough of them to know – but he understood Charlie’s distraction when the Duchess made an elegant bow of her head and said,

“Please, we already know each other. You can just call me Lisa.”


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel took a bite out of the tagine that had been served to him on a delicate porcelain plate, and chewed. It tasted like cardboard in his mouth, even though he knew that on any other day it would have been delicious.

Opposite him, the Duchess Lisa stuck her fork enthusiastically into her own food, and ate. Beside Castiel, Dean was sitting and not moving. A steaming mug of coffee had been placed in front of him.

The silence stretched out. At the head of the table, Mary’s eyes were flicking between her eldest son and his fiancée, her face carefully blank.

“I hope you had an easy journey to get here,” the Queen said eventually. Lisa smiled, and nodded.

“Yes, Ma’am, thank you,” she said. “Very easy. I travelled using the new rail system.”

“Ah, my youngest’s pride and joy,” Mary said, smiling. “How did you find the train?”

“It was so comfortable,” Lisa said. “I loved it. And so clever, how it runs on clean energy.”

“I’m so glad. It almost makes all the conversations we had about optimal carriage temperature worth it, doesn’t it, Dean?”

Dean, as though he’d sensed his mother’s attempt to draw him into conversation coming, had picked up his coffee mug and was mid-gulp. He got away with just a wordless noise and a nod of response as he swallowed, though Castiel noticed Mary’s eyes narrow a fraction.

“I haven’t been to Someria,” Castiel said, trying to take the attention away from Dean. “But I’ve read a lot of good things about it.”

“It’s the loveliest province in Corelia,” Lisa said, smiling at him. “Or at least, I think so, but I might be just a bit biased. If you ever decide to visit, let me know. I can give you the tour.”

“Not after the wedding, of course,” Mary interjected. “You’ll be living here, in Mariport.”

“Oh,” Lisa said, “yes, of course. But perhaps if Dean wanted to come too, then we could all travel to Someria together.”

Mary and Lisa looked to Dean. Castiel could think of nothing quickly enough to deflect the conversation away, this time, and Dean had no coffee in his mouth to hide behind. Instead, he cleared his throat.

“Charlie likes it in Someria,” he said. “Right, Charlie?”

If Lisa was confused about Dean addressing a member of his staff who was standing by the door instead of speaking to his own mother or fiancée, she didn’t show it. Instead, she also turned to Charlie with her pretty smile widening.

“You do?” Lisa said. There was a touch of intimacy in her tone, and Castiel remembered Charlie saying that she had been meeting up with Lisa in recent months to try to defuse the awkwardness of Dean refusing a meeting.

Charlie looked to the Queen, who gave a tiny nod.

“I’ve only been there a few times, as you know,” Charlie said. “But it’s really beautiful.”

“Maybe you should go with Lisa, then,” Dean said to her, and his tone was polite and friendly, but both Lisa and Charlie immediately coloured and Castiel himself froze at the slight.

In the silence, Mary set her fork down on the table with a clink.

“I think I’ve had enough to eat,” she said blandly. “It’s a lovely day. Dean, why don’t you show Lisa the terrace?” At her glance, a palace worker in a bright, elegant coat hurried over and opened the doors that led out to the stone-flagged terrace, letting in a rush of sweet-smelling air. The Queen grew her honeysuckles and roses around the terrace columns.

“That sounds lovely,” Lisa said, a little more strained than before. Unexpectedly, Castiel felt his heart squeeze for her – she looked very brave, somehow, keeping her smile intact.

Dean stood up without a word, and went over to her, and offered her his arm. The squeeze in Castiel’s chest deepened into pain as Lisa took it, and the two of them started to walk outside. At the door, Lisa looked back over her shoulder, straight at Charlie.

The look said, only too plainly, _don’t make me do this on my own._ The idea of anyone not wanting to be alone with Dean was so alien to Castiel that at first he was offended on Dean’s behalf – and then, eyes following across, Castiel saw Charlie return her an expression of understanding, and felt his brief moment of indignation deflate. Dean had thoroughly earned himself any discomfort that Lisa felt around him.

Charlie followed the pair of them out the door onto the sunny terrace, stepping unobtrusively.

Once they were gone, the Queen breathed out, and put her head in her hands.

“Dismissed,” she said, and the palace workers immediately left the room. Awkwardly, Castiel went to stand up, but when she heard his chair scrape back, Mary looked up. “Oh, Castiel. I’m so sorry, not you. That was rude.”

“No,” Castiel said. “Not at all.” He took his seat again.

“I don’t know what to do with him,” Mary said, her eyes on the door through which Dean had left. “I really don’t. Less than a week until he’s married and I find out he hasn’t even gone to meet her. And then he just…” She gestured eloquently with a hand, not needing to repeat the rudeness Dean had just shown his bride-to-be.

Castiel didn’t know how to reply. When Dean came back, were the two of them still going to talk? The things that Dean had seemed to want to say upstairs, did he still want to say them? Did Castiel even really know what those things were?

“I’m worried, Castiel,” Mary said. She looked up at him, with those piercing eyes that Castiel had never really been able to lie to with any success. “You see the change in him too, don’t you?”

Castiel swallowed.

“Dean’s never insulted someone like that before in front of me,” he said, trying to be honest enough to seem open while not telling her anything particularly important. “Out of nowhere.”

“It’s not like him. He hasn’t been himself since the engagement was announced. But I just don’t understand… we talked a lot before I arranged the match, and he kept saying he wanted to marry someone he had a history with, someone he’d met when he was young. He and Lisa both had their first official appearances in public in the same year, at the same event! I thought that was perfect. It was at the gala dinner in Reykjavik – you remember, you were there…” She trailed off. Castiel did remember that night; he remembered Dean standing very stiff and quiet for twenty minutes while adults talked all around them, and then he’d grabbed Castiel’s hand and made a break for the kitchens. They’d spent the whole night sitting on top of the head chef’s counter and tasting each dish before it went out. It had been the night Dean’s dream to become a chef had been born.

“I thought I was doing what he wanted,” Mary said, eventually.

 _Someone he had a history with,_ Castiel couldn’t help thinking. _Someone he’d met when he was young._ Did that mean romantic history, or just… history? He swallowed again, and tried to gather his thoughts.

“If Dean doesn’t actually want to get married to Lisa…” he said to the Queen, and then let the sentence hang delicately.

Mary swallowed visibly.

“Someria,” she said, “is the richest of the Corelian provinces, I’m sure you know. So many resources, so much political influence. The financial wellbeing of the whole country hangs on Mariport’s relationship with Someria. On an international level, the stock market pays attention and there are consequences for us when things aren’t going well. If the Duchess should feel slighted… if she should turn against us, and her political allies with her…” Mary smiled at him composedly, and Castiel understood how bad it would be.

“You think that she would?” Castiel asked. The Queen pursed her lips, considering.

“Lisa is an intelligent person and, if she were jilted, I would not expect her to make political moves against us just out of anger or resentment. But Dean is… not showing himself to be the best future ruler of a country. Even before his rudeness to her, he’s been looked down on for years because of his attachments to those outside the nobility… which I will never condone,” Mary said, meeting Castiel’s eyes, “as you know. No one could have been a better friend to my son all these years than you. But if our house is to continue to rule, he has to make a good match.”

 _Attachments to those outside the nobility,_ Castiel repeated back to himself, the words stinging.

He thought about trying to say something in response, and managed a nod. Mary, always perceptive, leaned across the table to him.

“I’ve upset you,” she said. “Castiel, I’m sorry. I thought you knew about how the houses saw your connection with Dean.”

“I did,” Castiel said. “I do.”

 _But that was before we were married,_ he thought. _That was before I saw the look on his face this morning and thought there might be a chance we could stay that way._

“You know I’d never stop you two from seeing each other,” Mary said. “Your friendship is in no danger.”

Castiel nodded silently. Had she lingered a little pointedly on the word ‘friendship’? It had been so subtle, if so, that Castiel wasn’t sure.

“Anyway,” the Queen said, sitting up straight, her composure returning with practised ease. “Tomorrow, I’ve arranged for Dean and Lisa to go to visit Saint Crispin’s together, and I’ve invited the press. Some PR work should make up for lost time. I should have realised months ago that Dean hadn’t even met with Lisa, but I’ve just been – you know, with the summit only finishing last week, I just…”

“Saint Crispin’s?” Castiel asked, unable to stop himself checking that he’d heard her right.

“Yes,” Mary said. “You’ll go along with them, won’t you? I know you go back there often. I thought you could introduce Dean and Lisa to the children.”

“The children already know Dean,” Castiel said, his voice sounding blank. Of course the children at the orphanage where Castiel had grown up already knew Dean. The two of them, Dean and Castiel, made a point to go there at least once a month, or they had done before Dean’s engagement and his sudden silence.

“They do?” Mary said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t know Dean went there with you.”

“We go sometimes,” Castiel said. “No press.”

Imagining Dean and Lisa posing with the kids at the place where he and Dean had visited so often turned the emptiness in Castiel’s stomach to anger. He knew Mary meant well, but the children deserved to be more than a photo opportunity. And it was Dean and Castiel’s place to go and be themselves. More than anything, it was Castiel’s place, where he’d grown up.

“Well,” Mary was saying, “I guess that’s even better. You won’t be needed after all.”

“No,” Castiel said, the word coming out harsher than he meant it to. “I’ll be there. Ma’am.” He tacked on the last word as an attempt at respect, after his tone had shown anything but. The Queen’s eyes were sharp on him, trying to figure him out.

“You’re always welcome to go where you like, Castiel,” she said a little coolly, and then got to her feet. “Excuse me, I have my meeting with the Prime Minister in ten minutes.”

Castiel sat still as she left, feeling the rebuke in the sharp and fast clip of her heels on the floor. He looked down at his unfinished tagine, and then across to the doorway that led out onto the terrace. A part of him wanted to go out there – to break up the meeting between Dean and Lisa, to ask Dean what he’d wanted to talk about earlier. Even just to check he was alright, after acting so out of character.

But Mary’s words were ringing in his ears. What they boiled down to was simple: Castiel was bad for Dean’s reputation. If Dean was going to be able to rule Corelia, and if Corelia was going to be able to stay politically stable, Dean and Castiel’s friendship was already an obstacle and a marriage was out of the question.

The anger in Castiel’s stomach hadn’t abated. He only felt it grow, as it sunk in: Dean was really going to marry Lisa. And Lisa was – as Charlie had said – very nice, and Dean would be happy with her. She would make a good queen some day, with her training in etiquette and her self-possession. It made sense for them to be together. And Castiel only got angrier the more he thought about it.

He would still go tomorrow, he knew, because he wouldn’t be able to keep away. Apart from anything else, he wouldn’t leave the kids at Saint Crispin’s to face the cameras alone. But he stood up from the table, and went upstairs to his bedroom, and sent a second email to the lawyers. The annulment needed to happen fast.

That night, Castiel heard a knock on his bedroom door. Checking his phone, he read the time.

Ten past midnight. His jetlag was punishing him more than he’d hoped, and he was wide awake. And he knew that there was only one person who’d be at his door at this hour, with that specific knock.

It came again. _Tap, tap tap._

Castiel had kept to himself for the whole of the rest of the day, and hadn’t been disturbed. Steeling himself, Castiel walked over to the door, and opened it. Standing outside was Dean, of course – and Castiel had been planning to talk about the lawyers and documents and serious things, but he took one look at Dean’s face and his hand reached out, taking Dean’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

Dean’s head dropped. He leaned a little into Castiel’s touch.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said hoarsely. “I spent the whole day with her, I only just said goodnight. And she’s – she doesn’t deserve –”

Castiel used the hand on Dean’s shoulder to pull him forward, and what he meant to say was, _come in._ But somehow, on the way out of his mouth, it turned into,

“Come here.” Softly spoken. And Dean didn’t look up, didn’t meet his eyes – only took a step forward, and put his chin on Castiel’s shoulder, and his arms around Castiel’s middle.

It wasn’t entirely what he’d meant, but Castiel realised as Dean’s arms wrapped around him that it was exactly what he wanted. They hugged in silence for a second, and then two, and then three.

Dean’s hug was warm. The quiet around them was like a greater embrace, keeping them safe as they held onto each other. Castiel could feel Dean’s chest moving as he breathed, a little choppy with distress even though he wasn’t crying.

“She’s nice,” Dean said. “She’s really nice. But I can’t…”

Castiel didn’t say anything.

“It’s all my fault,” Dean said in a low voice. So quiet that Castiel knew how much he meant it. And as though reminded by his own words that he didn’t deserve the touch, Dean pulled away.

“No,” Castiel said to him, looking him in the eye. “It’s not.”

“It’s all screwed up. Did they tell you? Tomorrow we’re meant to be going to Crispin’s –”

“I know,” Castiel said.

“The press are going to be there…”

“I know.”

“Claire, Kaia – Patience – Krissy –”

“They’ll be fine. I’ll be there to help.”

“You’ll be there?” Dean’s face seemed to twist. Castiel couldn’t read the emotions on it.

“Is that good?”

Dean managed a pained half-smile.

“Is any of this good?” he said. “I don’t know, maybe we won’t even go. Maybe I should just tell her…”

Castiel, still feeling the ghost of Dean’s hold on him, pressed his lips together.

“Look,” Dean said. “This morning, I wanted to – I wanted to talk to you. The wedding, the one we…” He swallowed as he cut himself off, but Castiel understood. Their own wedding, in Las Vegas. “I wanted to tell you,” Dean said, “that I – I mean, uh…”

Castiel wanted to listen. More than anything. He thought he knew – he _hoped_ he knew what Dean might say. And yet –

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted. The one word, spoken in a tone that was harsh with how little Castiel wanted to interrupt, made Dean step back another pace. “I’ve had an email back from the lawyers in Nevada. They said there will be some difficulties with the paperwork, but given who you are, they’re going to be able to make it work.”

Dean’s mouth closed.

Castiel wondered what he’d been going to say. _I wanted to tell you,_ Dean had started. _I wanted to tell you._ And Castiel wanted to hear it. But he couldn’t. Not after what Mary had told him. Not now that he knew it was impossible for their marriage to last.

“That’s – you want that?” Dean said.

Castiel felt the word _no_ burning in his throat like a brand. He said nothing. Dean’s eyes searched his face for a second, and then Castiel watched him pull on a smile.

“Right,” he said. “Obviously it’s what you want. Who would wanna stay married to –”

“That’s not it,” Castiel interrupted. “It’s just – Dean, it’s – it’s you, and it’s me.” He had to see it, Castiel thought. The differences in their stations, the way that their connection had already opened Dean up to ridicule among the noble houses.

Dean looked suddenly as though he’d been hit by something heavy.

“But you know,” Castiel said in a hurry, before he could think twice and stop himself, “that if you really don’t want to marry Lisa, you don’t have to do that either. You don’t have to be married at all, if you don’t –”

“No,” Dean interrupted this time. He seemed to pull himself up, straighten his shoulders. There he was: the Dean that Castiel had watched burying all of his feelings for years. He almost looked angry. “No. It’s okay.”

The part of Castiel that had been hoping Dean really did want all the way out of his marriage to Lisa took its final blow, and crumbled. It was just like Charlie said, and Mary – Dean seemed unhappy to be getting married to Lisa, but he also didn’t seem to want a way out, either.

“Goodnight, then.” Harsh and clipped.

“Goodnight, Dean.” Castiel waited for Dean to have left the corridor before he closed his door.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel woke early on purpose, snuck some toast from the toast-racks waiting in the palace kitchen to be set out for breakfast, and took the walk down to Saint Crispin’s alone. He lingered just a little in the palace courtyard, listening to the sound of the fountain bubbling. The Queen's favourite blossoms, pink and white, were in full and gorgeous bloom.

Mariport was a small city, so most places besides the outskirts were within easy walking distance. This early, the mist was still enjoying a lazy morning in the empty streets, and Castiel breathed in the fresh air as he walked towards his childhood home. He crossed a bridge over a turquoise canal – it had only been a few days since he’d walked through the city, and he realised that he’d missed it. The buildings he passed were tall, some of them daubed with murals or decorated with pastel mosaics. He crossed a courtyard littered with fallen pink and white petals from the magnolia tree at the centre, and headed down a cobbled alley.

He was taking the long route. Claire, at least, wouldn’t be awake for another half an hour or so, and probably Kaia and Krissy too. Alex was always an early riser, though, and Patience as well. Castiel bent down as he passed a bottle lying in the road outside a closed-up bar, and tucked it into a bin as he passed. His feet felt right walking this place in a way they just hadn’t in Vegas. He belonged in this city, which had adopted him and raised him – which Dean had shown him, in games of hide-and-seek when they were kids, and nights out on the town doing their best to be incognito as adults.

The buildings along the streets were quintessentially European, long rows of tall apartment buildings all joined together. When he reached a slightly shabby-looking building with a sign over the door that read only _Saint Crispin’s,_ Castiel came to a stop. He let his eyes trace the familiar windows. There, bottom left, were the net curtains and potted plant on the sill that belonged in the office. And on the other side, the little angel figurine that proudly watched out of the kitchen.

The dark blue door swung open with Castiel still standing in the street.

“Are you going to stand there staring all day, weirdo?” Claire said from the doorway. And then her face split into a wry grin, and Castiel smiled back. He walked up the couple of steps to the covered porch, and offered his hand in a fist. She tapped it with her own.

“How are you,” Castiel said, as he walked through the door and she closed it behind him. “You’re awake.”

“Donna’s making breakfast,” Claire said breezily. “So I’m great.”

“Alright. And how are you really?”

Claire rolled her eyes. She was wearing eyeliner, Castiel noted. In fact, she was fully dressed, at eight in the morning.

“Too early for a mentor talk,” she said. “Please try again later.”

Castiel gave her a dry smile, and then followed her through to the light, high-ceilinged kitchen. There were general calls of greeting from Donna at the stove, and the gaggle of kids around the wooden dining table.

“You’re all awake,” Castiel said, taking the seat at the table that Jody brought over for him.

“All except one,” Jody said, patting Castiel on the shoulder in welcome before leaving the room to go and stand at the bottom of the stairs. “Kaia, so help me _god_ if you don’t get yourself down here –”

“I’ll go get her,” Claire said quickly, and scraped her chair back from the table. There were immediate _ooooh_ sounds from all the other kids at the table, and Claire flipped them the bird without looking back as she left.

“Jody, Claire swore,” said Todd immediately.

“Tell-tale,” said Patience, sitting across from him. Todd stuck out his tongue. Castiel watched, trying to keep the amusement off his face. Todd was still new to Saint Crispin’s, only a few weeks into his time there.

“Okay,” Donna said, bringing a huge platter over to the table. She set it down, and Castiel saw fresh bread rolls and croissants and cheeses and cured ham and orange slices, arranged neatly in rows. “Everyone take one of what you’d like…”

There was an immediate scramble for the platter. Castiel, more on instinct than anything, stuck out his elbows and made a grab for a flour-dusted roll and some prosciutto. Across the table from him, Krissy narrowed her eyes and plucked out the roll next to the one Castiel had taken.

“Are you all ready for today?” Castiel asked, picking the roll back up off his own plate and passing it towards Krissy without looking at her. She’d refuse it if he offered in words, Castiel knew, just like Dean would – but with the focus of the table on Castiel’s question, she quietly took the roll out of his hand and dropped it onto her own plate, and handed him back the one she’d taken.

“I’m going to be king of the cameras,” Todd announced, his mouth full of cheese.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Castiel said.

“It’s cool,” Alex said, flicking back her long dark hair. “We’re going to be in the newspapers.”

“So it’s best behaviour,” Jody said, taking her spot next to Donna at the head of the table. “From everyone.”

There was a clattering on the stairs, and then Claire came back into the room with a bleary-looking Kaia behind her. They fell into the two remaining seats next to each other at the table. Someone at the table made a kissy noise, which abruptly stopped when Claire picked up the knife that had been set next to her place, and looked enquiringly around at the other kids.

“What are we talking about?” she said.

“Today,” Castiel said. “The Prince and the Duchess are coming to visit.”

Claire rolled her eyes.

“It’s dumb,” she said, and Donna made a little noise of disapproval.

“Hey, now,” she said. “You never normally mind Dean coming around.”

“Right,” Claire said. “When he’s just Dean. The whole Prince thing, it’s dumb. And I bet his fiancée is dumb, too. Right?”

The table went suddenly quiet. Castiel glanced around, and found every face turned to him, every pair of eyes on him. Claire was watching Castiel, her eyes weighing him up.

“She’s not,” Castiel said. “I met her yesterday. She seems like a very thoughtful and intelligent person. And kind, too.”

“But isn’t she…” Claire began, and then jerked as though someone had stepped on her foot. A spoon clinked against the top of the table. Donna and Jody were sitting awkward and still, obviously on the point of intervening.

“It’s alright,” Castiel said, meeting Jody’s eye. “You can ask anything.”

“Isn’t she bad for Dean?” Claire said immediately.

“Bad for him?” Castiel repeated, more taken aback by the question than he’d anticipated.

“Yeah. I mean, he hasn’t come round since the engagement got announced.”

Castiel swallowed.

She’d noticed – of course she had, they probably all had. Claire hadn’t said a word any of the other times Castiel had been to Saint Crispin’s in the last few months, but she’d been filing away each time that he’d come alone.

“That…” Castiel said. He looked down for a second, and then back up to Claire, whose expression was mutinous. “That was Dean’s choice. It was nothing to do with her. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to come and see you. He was just…” Castiel considered lying, and then decided against it, and went for his best guess at the truth. “He was just sad for a while.”

“Sad? Why would being engaged make him sad?” Todd said.

“Because he shouldn’t be engaged to the Duchess,” Claire said.

“But being married is supposed to make him happy,” Todd pressed.

“I’m sure it will,” Castiel answered him, and managed a tight smile.

“But what about _you?_ ” Claire demanded.

This time, the silence rang. Castiel found himself staring at his plate, his mouth working for words, trying to understand the question. Why would Claire be asking about him when they had been talking about the wedding? He’d never spoken to anyone at Saint Crispin’s about his feelings for Dean. Were they really so obvious that Claire had been able to pick up on them, just from when he and Dean had come together to the orphanage? It seemed like it.

“I’ll be fine,” Castiel heard himself say. “This is the way it has to be. It’s the right thing. He and Lisa are going to make a good match.”

In his peripheral vision, he saw Donna reach out a hand for Jody’s arm, and squeeze it tightly, as though to comfort her. He looked up, and saw Jody’s lips were thin in the way they’d been when she’d had to tell Castiel and all the other children one year that there hadn’t been enough money for Father Christmas to come for everyone, so they were going to have to share presents.

“It’s alright,” Castiel said to her.

She looked away.

Castiel turned back to Claire, and saw that she was sitting with her arms folded, not meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Kaia said suddenly, in a quiet voice.

It was the simplicity that stole Castiel’s words. _I’m sorry._ It was as though she understood how much it was hurting to have to see this happen. And as Castiel looked back to Donna and Jody, he thought that they did, too. Somehow, they knew.

“I’m gonna kill the Duchess,” Claire said. “Li _sa._ ”

“No,” Castiel said, because he’d been present at the school meeting to discuss Claire’s violent tendencies, and knew that any threats were made in earnest. “You won’t.”

Claire shoved a croissant into her mouth and bit off a piece. The meal continued in silence for a while, until Todd asked Patience for the jam, and the conversation gently trickled back. It wasn’t until after Castiel had helped clear away and wash up, and he was drying plates with a tea-towel, that he found himself alone with Claire and had the chance to say,

“Don’t hate her.”

“Why not,” Claire shot back, so quickly that Castiel knew she’d been expecting him to challenge her.

“Because,” Castiel said, “she’s not doing this.”

Claire looked at him silently. Castiel could see it in her face: anger, and hurt, and confusion. Every emotion that he’d wanted to throw at Lisa, too, and had been unable to.

“She’s just a person,” Castiel said. “This was arranged for her as much as for Dean. And so far as I can tell, she’s doing a far superior job of making the best of it.”

“Maybe she had less to lose,” Claire said.

“We don’t know that. What matters,” Castiel said, “is that it’s not her fault. We can hate the universe for it being this way.” Castiel gritted his teeth. “I do. But we can’t hate her.”

It seemed to be those two words – _I do –_ that took the fight out of Claire. Just the admission of feelings, of Castiel being angry too, had her shoulders slumping and her eyes dropping to the floor.

“It’s not fair,” she said. “Nothing’s ever fair. Ever. There isn’t one thing in the entire world that’s just all good and fine and okay.”

Castiel wanted to reassure her; he wanted to say that he was sure there was something, somewhere. There probably was, he was just being slow to think of it. But he didn’t think she’d want to hear about it, anyway – she had her bad-seeing eyes on, and she’d tear apart whatever he said. So instead, he handed her a plate to put away.

“I know,” he said.

“Prince Dean!”

_Click click click._

“Your Highness, this way!”

_Click click click._

“Duchess, smile!”

The cameras flashed and clicked as Castiel stood in the kitchen of Saint Crispin’s, peering out the window with a cup of tea in his hands and watching Dean and Lisa posing together on the front porch. So far as Castiel could tell from his angle, things were going awkwardly, but they were at least going.

“Great,” Castiel heard Charlie say. “Now, if we could get the kids outside…”

Castiel gulped down the last of his tea, and went out into the corridor. The children of Saint Crispin’s were dressed up for the occasion, with even Claire wearing an ironed shirt. She caught Castiel’s eye and made a face as Donna tugged a brush through her thick blonde hair.

“Everyone remember,” Castiel said, “you don’t have to go outside at all if you don’t want to. And whenever you want to come back in, you can say so, or you can come and squeeze an adult’s hand two times.”

“That’s me, Donna, or Castiel,” Jody added.

“Alright, everyone,” Donna said, setting the hairbrush she’d been wielding down on the hall table and straightening her own collar. “You all look adorable, and I love you. Let’s go meet Dean and his… and the Duchess.”

The kids filed past Castiel, who waited until last to go out. As he emerged, he tried to keep his eyes on the cameras that were flashing away – but his gaze was pulled across to the Prince, and he got to see the look of relief break over Dean’s face when they made eye contact.

“Hi, kids!” Charlie said, walking up to them. Today she was at her most official, with a clipboard in her hands and a headset on. “You all look amazing! Okay, let’s see, if we could have you all gathered kind of, yeah, here on the porch and down the steps? For a group picture? Donna and Jody, you in it too, yes? And then maybe we can go round the back, I hear you guys have some fun activities planned that the Prince and the Duchess could join in with! Are you excited?!”

There were some half-hearted mumbles from the older teens, but Todd in particular yelled out in enthusiasm. As the kids grouped together for the ensemble picture, Dean managed to stand himself under the covered porch next to Castiel, who was ready to move forward and wait out of shot for the group photos to be taken. Claire and Kaia, however, were sticking together, and there was no space to move past them.

“Excuse me,” Castiel said.

“Where are you going?” Dean demanded. On his other side, Lisa leaned around and offered Castiel a little wave and a smile, which Castiel did his best to return in kind.

“I’m going down there,” Castiel said. Lisa nodded understandingly.

“Why?” Dean demanded. Lisa stopped nodding, and instead made a concerned and vaguely disapproving face, mirroring Dean’s tone.

“Because,” Castiel said, trying not to look into Dean’s eyes, and instead facing forward to try to find a path out, “I should be out of the picture.”

“What for?”

“What do you mean? I can’t be in it with you.”

Dean waited for just a second too long before asking,

“Why not?”

Castiel glanced over at him. Dean was wearing semi-formal royal garb, with his hair carefully styled and his shave neat enough that Castiel knew the Queen must have sent someone to do it for him. Beside him, Lisa was watching the two of them, her eyes flicking between them.

“Because,” Castiel said. “I don’t work here, and I’m not… I’m not your fiancé.”

Dean swallowed.

“Damn right, you’re not my fiancé,” he said. Castiel saw Lisa smile a little nervously in the background, clearly thinking that Dean was making a joke – and in a way, Castiel thought, Dean was, except it was a joke that only Castiel himself understood.

No, Castiel wasn’t Dean’s fiancé. Because he was Dean’s husband.

“Dean, I –”

“This is Saint Crispin’s,” Dean interrupted, sounding frustrated by Castiel’s resistance. “You’ve got more right to be in the picture than me, or anyone.”

“But…”

“Is everyone ready?” Charlie said. She looked up towards the back, and noticed Castiel standing next to Dean. For a second, Castiel saw a puzzled expression cross her face, but then she hitched up her smile and gave them a thumbs-up. “Looking great, you guys. Donna, Jody, can you scooch a little bit left… great. Okay.” She backed away. Castiel, heart thudding in his chest, watched her walk to where he should be standing, out of shot.

He glanced across at Dean, who was looking straight ahead, and then at Lisa, who was watching Charlie. She was probably also thinking that Castiel should be over there, Castiel thought. Or wishing that Charlie had challenged Castiel’s place in the photo.

“Okay, everyone, best smiles!” Charlie said. The cameras started to flash again in earnest, and Castiel resigned himself to where he was stuck. He tried his best to look photogenic. In front of him, Claire and Kaia shuffled closer together.

“Look this way, kids!” one of the photographers called. “Awesome!”

“Over here!”

“Nice big smile, now!”

“Your Grace, if you could come forward a little…” Charlie had stepped forward, and was gently gesturing for Lisa to step into the light. “That’s right. Beautiful. I mean, not that you’re beautiful! Like, that’s beautiful, that’s perfect.” Charlie backed away again, clearly going red.

Claire snorted, and that made Kaia laugh, and then Castiel heard Alex and Krissy try to smother giggles.

“Last few seconds,” Castiel said, desperate to stop the flow of laughter before Lisa could realise it was at her expense. On top of everything, the last thing the Duchess deserved was to be giggled at because a Public Relations Manager had stumbled over her words and said that she wasn’t beautiful. He risked a glance over at her, and Lisa’s smile was so composed that Castiel knew she’d already figured it out.

He felt his heart sink. If he’d just managed to get out of the way before the pictures started, then Lisa would have had enough space, and Charlie wouldn’t have had to tell her to step forward. Castiel was ruining this for Lisa, ruining it full stop. The cameras were still flashing, but quite suddenly Castiel couldn’t stand it any longer. He turned around, and opened the door to Saint Crispin’s, and walked quickly back into the house. No one to ask, no one’s hand to squeeze – he went.

“Cas?” he heard Dean say, as the door swung shut behind him.

He stood in the quiet of the hallway for a moment, and breathed. He knew no one would follow him. They were all stuck waiting for the cameras to stop flashing.

He breathed in the familiar scent of Saint Crispin’s – dust and a hint of bleach and a little of Donna’s favourite perfume. Still hearing the click of cameras outside was putting a pit in his stomach. Castiel left the hall, heading through the house towards the back – towards the downstairs bedrooms, to the one on the right-hand side. His own old room.

He pushed open the door. It made the same long squeak that it always made, the one that Dean had always used to mimic every time they’d walked through it together as kids.

And the carpet was the same, too. Castiel scuffed his foot over the place where he’d spilled pink dye, trying to colour the hair of his favourite toy horse. And there, on the wall, the dent where Dean’s elbow had almost made a real hole through the plaster after Castiel had smacked him too hard with a pillow and sent him tumbling.

The room was a little smaller every time Castiel walked into it, he thought. He remembered the bunk beds as being so tall, but the upper one didn’t come above his chin height, now. Stepping further into the room, he looked out the window into the back garden. He saw things laid out for the activities Charlie had promised – big sheets of paper, paint pots, bowls of snacks, even a bouncy castle – but then they seemed to fade, and all Castiel could picture outside were two kids sitting together up on the far wall of the garden with their backs to him.

They were talking. And then one of them – the one with lighter hair – threw his head back and laughed at something the darker-haired one had said. One of them pushed the other, and then it turned into a mini-wrestling match, until at the same time they both seemed to lose their balance. They yelled, and didn’t reach for the wall to steady themselves, but didn’t accept their fate and fall – they reached for each other. Grabbed for arms, shoulders. Somehow managed to balance themselves.

Castiel watched them start to laugh again, still holding onto each other.

And then they faded, and he could see the bright yellow giraffe-shaped bouncy castle, and the paint pots, and the sheets of white paper.

He sighed. His chest was aching, his bones were aching. He’d known that coming along today would be a mistake, but he’d still done it, and now here he was.

And there was nothing he could do, nothing he could change. He was stuck. All the years spent with Dean in this room had just been stepping stones on the way to here, to this. He wished he could call himself clever and say that he’d always known it would be this way, but if he was honest with himself, he hadn’t. He hadn’t known it would end at all. He hadn’t waited for the final day to come. He’d thought they would go on being together, in some way, forever. And in his wildest dreams, he’d hoped that the kind of togetherness they’d share would be the kind sealed by a gold ring, like the one in his pocket.

He still hadn’t been able to find a good place to hide the ring or the envelope of wedding photos in the palace, so he was still carrying them with him everywhere.

He put his hand in his pocket, just to feel its smooth weight. The ring he’d been given by Dean, on the night they’d got married. Castiel closed his eyes. The further he got from the Poison Bombs, the more details were coming back to him. He remembered the expression on the officiant’s face as he’d declared them married. He remembered the ridiculous music playing in the background, something he’d recognised – that was it, Taylor Swift, _Love Story._ And he remembered that they both had made vows, though he couldn’t remember what they were; he just had a picture in his mind of being watched steadily as he made his own promise, _I do._ And a memory of himself reaching out to hold Dean’s hand as Dean choked up when he tried to take his turn to talk.

The door behind Castiel creaked. Castiel turned sharply, and saw Dean standing in the doorway.

 _“Nyeeehhh,”_ said Dean after a second, in the worst impression of a door creaking that Castiel had ever heard. He couldn’t help but drop his head and smile. If he’d still been that dark-haired kid, he’d have laughed until his sides hurt at the silliness of it.

“You should be out there,” Castiel said.

“So should you,” Dean pointed out. He went to put his hands into his pockets, and then obviously realised he wasn’t wearing his wide-pocketed jeans, and awkwardly let his hands fall to his sides.

“I’m not the Prince,” Castiel said.

“Well,” Dean said, “you kinda are.”

Castiel frowned, and Dean shrugged in response.

“You know,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder, and then dipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a golden band. Castiel felt lightning streak across his chest at the sight of it. “When you agreed to put your one of these on, you kinda became a Prince.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Mm, pretty sure it is.”

“Is it?” Castiel said, with Dean’s certainty making him doubt himself.

“I have no idea.”

Castiel reached over to the top of one of the bunk beds, picked up a pillow, and threw it at Dean.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Dean said, grinning as the pillow hit him with a soft _whoomph._ “You know how that went last time.” He looked over at the far wall, with its dent still preserved in it.

Castiel followed his gaze for a second, and then looked back to Dean.

He wanted to say something, but didn’t know how to begin. Wanted to hear everything that Dean had to say, and also knew that he didn’t want to hear any of it – because if Dean wanted what Castiel wanted then it would be painful because they couldn’t have it, and if Dean didn’t want it after all then it would be painful too, just in a different way.

No matter what, not knowing seemed like the only way to avoid the hurt. It was going very well, Castiel thought, feeling his heart aching moodily inside him.

Dean said,

“Hey, uh. You know you can talk to me, right?”

Castiel didn’t meet his eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”

“Right.”

A silence fell. After a few seconds of it, Dean let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“So… this is what it’s gonna be like now?” he said.

“Like what?” Castiel asked. He gritted his teeth. When they fought, it usually started like this.

Dean gestured between the two of them with one hand.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe,” Castiel said.

“Well, okay. Pick one answer, you can’t have them all.”

“Alright,” Castiel said. “I don’t know.” He knew his voice sounded cooler than he meant it to, and he saw Dean respond in the way he always did to that tone – with a straightening of his back, and a lifting of his chin, and a hard brightness in his eyes.

“Seriously?” he said. “You… don’t know?”

Castiel shrugged, knowing that a shrug was the last thing Dean wanted. The anger that he'd been holding inside him raised its head.

“What, so as far as you’re concerned this could be it, then, and that’s just how it is, is it?” Dean said.

“I… I don’t know, Dean.” How was he supposed to know what they were going to do? How things were going to be for them? All of this was out of his hands.

“Don’t care either, huh?” Dean said.

“What?”

“Well, what’m I meant to think, Cas?” Dean said.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said again, trying not to sound hopeless about it. He didn’t even entirely know what they were disagreeing about – it felt like they were both just angry, and frustrated, with nowhere for it to go except towards each other.

Dean shrugged, and turned away.

“I don’t get it,” he said, and he sounded angry.

“What?”

“You.”

“What about me?” Castiel asked.

“I just don’t get it.”

“Get _what?”_

“This!” Dean said. “You being all silent, not wanting to… I don’t know. Just shutting me down.”

“I’m not…” Castiel swallowed, and trailed off. The truth was, between interrupting Dean the night before and not talking to him right now about everything on his mind, he kind of _was_ shutting Dean down.

“You said it was all a huge mistake for you,” Dean said. “‘Cause it’s you and me. Fine. Sure. And you said it’s weird for you now. I get it if you’re angry with me about getting you into the whole thing. But if you could at least tell me, then it wouldn’t be all – it wouldn’t be like this.”

“Dean, we can’t just…” Castiel broke off. He didn’t know what to say. _We can’t just talk,_ he thought. What was he supposed to say? Confess his feelings, now of all times? Dean was getting married to Lisa. Dean _had_ to get married to Lisa. Castiel confessing how he felt would only make things more awkward between them, with it all out loud. Not for the first time, Castiel hated the feeling inside of him, the way he felt about Dean. If he could just make it disappear, then he could be a better friend.

“I just want to get it,” Dean said.

“It’s not that easy.”

“But if I don’t get what’s going on with you, then how are we supposed to stay friends,” Dean snapped.

“I don’t know, Dean.”

Dean’s expression grew harder.

“It’s never been like this with us,” Dean said.

“Well,” Castiel said, “we never got married before, did we.”

“But I don’t get why you just – why you don’t even want to talk to me.”

His tone was vaguely accusatory, in the way it usually got when Dean thought Castiel should feel guilty, but didn't want to directly call him out.

“Oh,” Castiel said, the injustice kicking up a memory for him and the reply coming out of his mouth whip-sharp before he could stop it. “ _You’re_ telling _me_ we should talk more, now, are you.”

Dean's face hardened.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The question wound Castiel's anger tighter.

“Let’s think, shall we,” Castiel said, the words caustic. “You didn’t speak to me for months before we went to Las Vegas.”

“I – that was different,” Dean spluttered. “That was totally different.”

“Fine. If you say so,” Castiel snapped.

“Look, I just want you to talk to me,” Dean said.

“Maybe that’s what I wanted, too,” Castiel shot back.

“Yeah, well… but the point is –”

“The point is,” Castiel interrupted. “We can’t just talk. You –”

“Why not?” Dean demanded.

“If you’d let me finish,” Castiel said, “I’d tell you.”

“Oh,” Dean said, “please, be my guest.”

“I will," Castiel said, the argument in full flow now, both of them watching the other with hard eyes. "We can’t, because you have Lisa to think about now, you have the wedding in a few days, and –”

Dean made a noise of anger. He held up the ring, his wedding ring, so that Castiel had to look at it.

“Well, before I had any of that, I had you,” he said, each word a curt blow. “I had this. And if it means nothing to you, then you should just tell me that.”

A hush fell.

Castiel stared at him. This was more than Dean had ever said. In a quiet part of his mind, behind the anger, Castiel could feel his heart tearing. What Dean had said, was that a confession of feelings?

Dean was searching his face, his eyes wide and hurt.

Castiel reached into his own pocket, and pulled out his own ring. He held it up in front of Dean – and for a second, he was back in the hotel in Las Vegas, just the two of them in the room, holding their rings up to each other and realising what they’d done.

“It means something to me,” Castiel said.

Dean stared at the ring in Castiel’s hand, clearly taken aback. He swallowed, and Castiel watched the anger leave him.

“Cas…” he said, a little hoarsely.

_Click._

Castiel pulled his hand down as though he’d been burned, and whipped his head around to the window. Standing outside, in front of the giraffe-shaped bouncy castle, was a photographer with his camera raised. As Castiel watched, he clicked the shutter another few times.

“No!” Castiel called, starting towards the glass, shaking off the inertia of horror. “No – hey, stop!”

“Shit – Cas –”

“Stop it!”

“Cas, don’t – they only take more pictures if you freak out – shit –”

 _Click click click click_ went the camera as Dean put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, and pulled him backwards. Castiel let himself be tugged away, but then turned and pushed past Dean, heading for the door to the back garden. He’d just talk to the photographer, get those pictures deleted – he could feel bile rising in his throat. If they weren’t deleted, and if pictures of himself and Dean holding matching gold rings were published in the newspaper tomorrow…

He blundered down the corridor and slammed open the back door, to find himself in an empty garden. The photographer was gone.

A moment later, Dean was behind him.

“Come back inside,” he said in a low voice. “He might still be around, taking pictures.”

“Dean…”

“I know. Just come in. I can – I’ll fix it. Somehow. Just come back in.”

Castiel followed Dean back inside, his heart pounding, stomach swirling. Not even two whole days, he thought. They hadn’t even been able to keep their secret for two whole days in the city.


	9. Chapter 9

“Alright,” Castiel said, crossing another name off the list. “The Enquirer says they don’t have them either. So we’ve just got the Mail and the Standard to try.”

Dean, pacing his bedroom floor, picked up one of their discarded take-out boxes and dug into it, putting whatever he found in there into his mouth and chewing. His styled hair was out of place after all the times he’d pushed his hands through it over the course of the afternoon and evening, and his princely clothing was thrown on the floor. He walked up and down, wearing some pyjama pants, a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and a loose robe.

“What do we do if both of those two say they don’t have them either?” Dean said.

Castiel swallowed. He was sitting on Dean’s bed, with a list of Mariport’s newspapers in front of him, along with his mobile phone. He himself hadn’t had time to go back to his own room to change, because they’d gone back to the palace and made Dean’s room their centre of operations immediately after making the hastiest possible exit from Saint Crispin’s, after Dean had completed enough of the back-garden activities to be polite. So, instead of his own clothes, Castiel was wearing another pair of Dean’s pyjama pants, and another one of his Led Zeppelin t-shirts.

And he was trying to ignore how good, and how dangerous, that felt. Really, physically good, to the point of it genuinely feeling a little dangerous. He could only think about it for short bursts at a time.

Castiel’s pause after Dean’s question seemed to be answer enough, because Dean flopped down onto the end of his own bed looking exhausted.

“I can’t believe we blew it like that,” he said.

“Neither can I.” Castiel began to type the number for the Mail into his phone.

“Arguing like that. Couple of dumbasses.”

Castiel had been lost in the flurry of trying to fix their mistake, and the argument that had led up to it suddenly came back to him. The curt rage and helplessness in Dean’s voice. The way he’d seemed to deflate as soon as Castiel had said that the marriage meant something to him.

So, did that mean...

With a shake of his head, Castiel dismissed the thought. There was no time. He could think about that later. For now, he just had to clean up the mess. Whatever Dean felt about him, whatever ended up happening with the royal wedding, Dean’s hand shouldn’t be forced by some asshole photographer sneaking pictures of him.

“I mean, seriously,” Dean was still saying. “How long have we been doing this, we know what the paps are like, we should’ve known not to just stand there looking like –”

“Shh,” Castiel cautioned, as he hit _Dial._ The tone buzzed in his ear, and then someone picked up.

_“Hello, you’ve reached the offices of The United Corelia Mail. This is Jenna speaking, how may I help you?”_

“Hello, yes. I’m contacting you from His Royal Highness Prince Dean’s Public Relations team. I’d like to enquire after some photographs taken today, of the Prince and his friend inside the house…”

_“Could I take your name, please?”_

“I’m from the Royal team,” Castiel said firmly. “If you won’t discuss this with me, I can pass you on to legal.”

_“Oh. Well, I… sorry, did you say pictures of the Prince inside the house?”_

“Yes, that’s correct.”

_“One moment, please.”_

Dean made a face at Castiel, as though asking how it was going. Castiel waved him away with one hand.

“Tell them we’ll pay them,” Dean hissed, and Castiel waved harder.

_“Right,”_ Jenna said, coming back on the line. _“Okay, I’ve just checked and we don’t have any pictures of the inside of the house. I’m sorry, I don’t think we can help you.”_

“Oh,” Castiel said, heart sinking. “Alright. Thank you. Goodbye.”

He rang off. Dean, reading the expression on his face, flopped down even harder to lie horizontal on his bed.

“It must be one of the ones we’ve called already,” he said. “And they just lied to us about not having them.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Castiel said. “I mean, we have no official ID or verifiable name, we’re not calling from an official number, we don’t even know what to say. I wouldn’t tell us anything, either.”

“And it’s not gonna be the Standard,” Dean said, picking up their list and staring at the last newspaper name on it. “That’s the tiny newspaper that Jo’s mom runs.”

“Jo?”

“Harvelle. You know.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, his brow clearing. “Yes. Her mother runs a newspaper?” Now that Dean said it, Castiel thought he remembered someone else mentioning it recently.

“Yeah. She always did. You remember, Ellen Harvelle? She came in and gave us all that talk about how to deal with bad publicity.”

“I don’t remember that,” Castiel said. He wanted to flop down on the bed next to Dean. He wanted Dean to put his head on Castiel’s shoulder. He wanted to kiss Dean and tell him it didn’t matter anyway, and they should just run away to a place where Castiel could always wear his clothes. He felt young in the slightly too-big pyjamas, too young to know how to handle a potentially international scandal about to drop.

“Pretty ironic,” Dean said.

“What? Oh. Yes.”

“Okay. I need to pee. You gonna call that last number?”

“Yes,” Castiel said again as Dean got up, taking away the temptation to lie down next to him. Probably for the best.

Dean walked away, and Castiel tapped in the number for the _Mariport Standard._ He stared down at it on his screen. This was just going to be another dead end, and he knew it. What then? What happened when they couldn’t fix this? Did they just have to go to bed and wait to see what the morning would bring? Just sleep and then see whether the newspaper with the pictures would connect the dots? Castiel had been juggling an idea in his mind for the last hour or so, to say that the rings were Dean and Lisa’s wedding rings, and Castiel had just been holding one because Dean had been nervous for the wedding and wanted to practise with them – or maybe had just wanted to see them, and Castiel had been holding onto them as his friend, so he’d brought them along to Saint Crispin’s – or –

None of the options he could think of really held a lot of water when he thought about them for longer than five seconds. But surely that was just because he knew they were a lie. Surely, the first thought in the general public’s minds on seeing those photos wouldn’t be, _wow, those two people who just went on a trip to Las Vegas, a city famous for quick and ill-advised marriages, must have got married and are holding their own rings._

When Castiel thought it word-for-word, he had to admit it sounded at least equally, and maybe even a little bit less, far-fetched than some kind of impromptu wedding roleplay in the middle of a press event.

Castiel heard the toilet flush and the tap go on as Dean washed his hands. It was strange to think about it, after so many years of taking their comfort around each other for granted, but Castiel felt suddenly aware of their ease and their closeness. They could exist so comfortably around one another. They always had. And Castiel didn’t have a lot of people like that, and he didn’t think Dean did either. The awkwardness and anger of their argument was gone, dissipated under the pressure of a mutual catastrophe.

He looked out of the window, watching the darkening sky. Soon it would be too late for them to do anything to fix the situation with the photos, anyway. The newspaper that had them would likely have already gone to print. The copies would be in every newsagents by dawn.

These might be the last few hours where he and Dean were the only two people in United Corelia who knew that they were married.

_Knock, knock._

It was a soft knock that sounded through the room – not shy, but careful. For a confused second, Castiel looked over at the bathroom door that Dean had gone through, but then the knocking came again. It was coming from the door out into the corridor, Castiel realised.

He stared across the room. Should he answer it? If it was Charlie, she’d want to know why he was in Dean’s room and wearing Dean’s clothes. If it was Mary, that would be terrifying. If it was Sam, he wouldn’t know what to say. If it was Lisa…

Castiel decided not to open the door.

But the knocking came again, insistent, as though the person outside knew already that there was someone on the inside.

“Cas, can y’get that?” came Dean’s muffled voice. “‘m doin’ m’teeth.”

Could he pretend he hadn’t heard Dean’s request? Yes, he could. But it was just a knock at the door, after all. Castiel got up off the bed, fidgeting self-consciously with the way Dean’s clothes sat on him as he went over to the door.

He opened it.

“Hi,” said Jo Harvelle, who was standing outside the door.

“Um,” Castiel said. “Hello?”

He’d meant it to be a polite greeting, but it came out as more of a question. Jo wasn’t in her flight attendant’s uniform, now – just a pair of jeans, a dark top, and a brown leather jacket. In the corridor’s evening glow, she looked Castiel straight in the eye. There was something odd about her expression, Castiel thought.

“Hey,” Jo said. “Can I come in? I need to talk to you guys.”

Something was definitely off. She sounded casual, as though – yes, that was it. That was what was odd. Strangely, she didn’t seem at all surprised to see Castiel, even though she’d knocked on the door of Dean’s room.

“Yes, of course,” Castiel said after too long a pause, stepping back to make space for her to come through. She walked into the room, and stopped a few steps in, looking around her.

“Wow,” she said. “I haven’t been back here since Dean’s birthday party in year seven. What was it, cowboy theme?”

“Cowboys and pirates,” Castiel said.

“I ripped his poster…”

“He still has it,” Castiel said, pointing it out.

“Oh. Shit.” Jo looked caught between amusement and guilt. She glanced around the room one more time, and then looked over at Castiel. “So,” she said. “Where’s your husband?”


	10. Chapter 10

For a second, it didn’t register. Castiel went to answer, tell her that Dean was in the bathroom. And then, quite suddenly, what she’d said hit him.

Castiel’s mouth dropped open.

His stomach sank. He’d read about the colour draining out of someone’s face, but he’d never thought that it would happen to him, and that he’d be able to physically feel it happening.

“Um,” he managed. Jo wasn’t smiling, wasn’t obviously joking. Her question had been just… sincere, easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world to ask. Castiel didn’t know how to answer her. He thought his fingers had gone numb.

“Who is it?” Dean called through from the bathroom.

“It’s Jo Harvelle,” Jo called back, when Castiel didn’t answer. After a moment of silence the bathroom door clicked open and Dean’s head poked out, with a distinctly confused expression.

“Jo?” he said.

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” she said. “I came to talk to you guys.”

Castiel stared at her. How did she know? How could she possibly know? It had to be that her mother’s newspaper really did have the pictures of Castiel himself and Dean, and she’d figured it out. But even so… she hadn’t sounded as though she’d been making a guess based on some pretty good evidence when she’d asked Castiel about his husband. She’d sounded as though she knew. Like it was obvious. Like _he_ should already know that she knew.

“How did you even… did Charlie let you up?” Dean said, walking towards where she and Castiel were standing. “Because she’s supposed to text ahead of any guests. I’m not even, uh…” He didn’t look down at his slightly ratty pyjamas, but there was an awareness of them in his body language. Jo pulled a slightly guilty face.

“Not exactly,” she said. “I sort of just came in. No one really asked what I was doing, and I remembered where your room was from that cowboys and pirates party when we were kids, so… here I am.” She held out her hands awkwardly. “You maybe need to get some security.”

“Yeah, we, uh… we used to have a private round-the-clock guard with fancy uniforms and everything. Sam nixxed it last year,” Dean said, sounding distracted and still looking at Jo with a confused expression.

“Oh. Why’s that?”

Castiel’s mouth was dry. He knew that he should be saying something, letting Dean know what Jo had said, asking her to tell them how she’d found out – but he was frozen, stuck listening to them small talk as his mind frantically grabbed for words to say.

“Something about, uh, the governing authority shouldn’t need a specialised guard, because average citizens don’t have them.”

“They also don’t have giant houses that could apparently be very easily robbed,” Jo pointed out.

“Okay, just _don’t_ say that around him. It’s ammunition for his plan to raze the palace and build a clean energy factory, or something.”

“Oh, no… but it’s so pretty here! My mom brings my nana every Sunday for tea in the public gallery…”

“She knows,” Castiel blurted out.

Dean looked over at him.

“Jo’s nana?” he said. “Knows what?”

“No,” Castiel said, having finally found his tongue. “Jo knows. About us.”

“About…” Dean was frowning at Castiel, and then his eyebrows went up, and his mouth formed an ‘o’. He turned back to her. “Wait,” he said. “You… know?”

Jo’s gaze flicked between them.

“Uh,” she said. “You mean, about the wedding?”

Dean was very still and very quiet for a long moment, and then he brought up a hand to his forehead.

“Crap,” he said.

Jo was watching him, and then looking over to Castiel, taking in their consternation.

“How do you know?” Castiel managed, as Dean tilted his head back, eyes upward, clearly trying to take in the latest disaster.

“Is that a joke?” Jo said with an uncertain half-smile. After another few seconds of tense silence, her face dropped. “Wait. Do you… seriously not remember?”

“Remember what?” Castiel said.

“Holy shit,” Jo said softly, looking at the two of them with something akin to wonder on her face. “Holy shit. Okay. I’m gonna be honest, this explains a lot about why you guys were like that on the plane ride home. Jesus. I thought you were just, like, brushing me off.”

“Brushing you… the plane?” Castiel managed to echo, now completely lost. Jo let out a little laugh.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s not funny, really. It’s just – you should see your faces. Okay, so, uh, here’s the thing, guys. When you get married, you need witnesses, right?”

“Right,” Castiel said. He glanced over at Dean, who was focused on Jo, his expression the kind of blank that meant there was a lot going on underneath.

“Right. Well.” Jo smiled awkwardly, and waved. “Hi. That was me.”

“Wait.” Dean spoke for the first time in a minute, and his voice seemed to have dropped an octave. “You were there? When we…”

“Got married,” Jo filled in for him, when he let the sentence trail off. “Sure. I, uh. Super thought you guys remembered. Kinda awkward, now. I get why you looked so freaked out.” She directed the last sentence at Castiel, who couldn’t even manage an acknowledgement.

“Why are you here?” he said instead, and it came out rudely, his tone blunt. Jo blinked, and stood up a little straighter in defense.

“I came to talk to you,” she said, “because, well. Firstly, I’ve been waiting for, like, a few days now to hear that Dean’s whole royal engagement thing has been broken off, and I haven’t heard anything, and I was starting to worry you guys thought that the whole thing somehow hadn’t counted because you were drunk, or whatever?”

“Oh, we know it counted,” Dean said. And somehow his tone wasn’t bitter so much as it was something else, something Castiel couldn’t quite place.

“Great. Well. Okay. And the other thing is, uh. Something I think you know about, but, uh. I thought I should probably warn you?”

“It’s the pictures,” Castiel said heavily. “Isn’t it.”

“So you do know,” Jo said, sounding relieved. “Okay. Great. That’s pretty much all I came to say, so…”

“No, hold up,” Dean said, stymying her obvious move to leave. “So it’s your mom’s newspaper that’s got them? Can you stop her from printing them?”

Jo made a face.

“Oh,” she said. “Um. Okay. So, it’s not just one paper that has them. It’s kind of… all of them.”

Castiel breathed out into the quiet.

“Shit,” Dean said. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Uh. The photographer was a freelancer. Horrible guy, honestly. Sold the pictures as exclusives to at least six different papers. Way to make a quick buck. My mom’s paper isn’t running the pics, just so you know, out of respect. But, yeah… everyone else is. And I thought, if you guys were waiting for the right moment to announce your marriage, then probably it’s a sooner than later kind of deal? Like, do it tonight?”

Castiel looked over at Dean, who turned to face him. In silence, they stared at each other.

What now?

Castiel’s plan to brush the whole thing under the rug and let Dean get on with being ruler of a country with his perfect match by his side hadn’t accounted for the possibility of their marriage being outed. What did they do?

Castiel’s phone made a noise, the one it made when an email came through.

“I’m sorry,” Jo said. “This seems like worse news than I thought it would be.”

Castiel pulled out his phone. He got so few emails that he knew who it would be from. Sure enough, the sender’s name stood out in the bold letters of an unread message: _Milton & Milton. _He opened the email.

“What’s that,” Dean said. Castiel realised Dean had been watching his face. He swallowed.

“It’s the lawyers,” he said. “They’ve sent through the annulment paperwork for us to fill out.”

“We have to go to Charlie,” Castiel said, half an hour later. Jo was sitting on the sofa in the corner of Dean’s room, scrolling on her phone, while Dean and Castiel paced in front of her.

“We can’t,” Dean said. “She’d kill me. Or she’ll tell my mom. Hopefully the first one, though.”

“She’s going to find out anyway,” Castiel pointed out. “Everyone is.”

“Not if we just figure out a way to contain it,” Dean said, doing a box motion with his hands. Castiel mimicked him.

“ _Contain it,_ ” he copied. “You keep saying that. Dean, it’s over. We can’t contain it. It’s going to be out there.”

Dean breathed out.

“You’re sure there’s nothing you can do,” Dean said, looking at Jo, who sighed and then got to her feet.

“Guys,” she said, “stopping this kind of thing is what your officials do, right? My mom’s had to deal with royal embargoes on stuff before. If you don’t want the pictures out there, then Castiel’s right. You gotta go to your team about it. They’ll be able to stop it.”

“But if Charlie knows,” Dean said, “my mom will find out. She always does.”

Dean said it as though it was the worst-case scenario. Castiel could understand why. Every day since they’d met, Castiel had watched Dean try to be the best possible son for his mother. He’d watched Dean carry the weight of being the royal heir on his shoulders

“But she’ll find out anyway,” Castiel said quietly. “If we don’t get the pictures pulled.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “but we can just – if we just say it isn’t what it might look like… listen, maybe you can’t even really see the rings, you know? Through the window?”

“You really can,” Jo said. When Dean and Castiel turned sharp eyes on her, she shrugged. “My mom bought them before she knew exactly what they were, and I peeked. Sue me. Listen, uh, I don’t wanna bail, here. But I don’t think there’s anything I can do. You know where to go if you want the photos pulled. And I should get home and feed my cat.”

“Right,” Dean said distractedly. “Yeah.”

“Ash says hi, by the way.”

“He’s still living with you?” Dean said, attention momentarily caught. Jo rolled her eyes.

“He said he’ll move out next month.” She waved awkwardly at Castiel, and then at Dean. “Sorry I was the bringer of bad news. Uh, for what it’s worth…” She paused, and then shook her head. “You know what, it’s your business. Just, uh, take care, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean said.

“Goodbye,” Castiel said.

“Bye,” Jo answered, and then slipped out of the door. The silence that followed her exit was sudden. Dean and Castiel looked at each other.

Castiel had the distinct sense that they’d been suddenly left unaccompanied, two unruly children without a supervisor.

“We have to go to Charlie,” Castiel said again, in a lower voice. “You know we do.”

Dean let out a breath.

“We should go now,” Castiel said. “Or you should text her.”

“I – yeah. I’ll text her. I’ll tell her she needs to – to pull the photos.” Dean got out his phone, and went over to his bed to sit down on it. Castiel followed him, and sat down a short way up the bed. Dean paused, and then said, “Or you could do it.”

“Me? Why would I do it?”

“You could just type it,” Dean said, holding the phone out to him. “And I’ll send it.”

“No, you do it.”

“C’mon, you’re better than me with words.”

“My people skills have been rusting since we left college,” Castiel scoffed.

“Guess all you’ve got left is your natural talent, then,” Dean said, still holding out the phone.

“No, it –” Castiel made a little noise of frustration, and pushed the phone away. “She’ll know if it’s not you. She might even think your phone has been stolen, and not pull the pictures. You just have to do it.”

“But –”

“Dean.”

Dean made a show of rolling his eyes.

“ _Fine._ ” He licked his lips quickly, thumbs hovering over the screen. “Uhhhhhh. Okay. Maybe if I just don’t tell her why…”

Castiel considered.

“She’ll probably ask you why, anyway,” he said. Dean grunted and began typing on his phone. Castiel, hands itching for something to do, reached for his own phone and remembered about the email from Milton & Milton as soon as he unlocked it. He stared down at it, the simplicity of the wording, the clinical coolness. Just scans of a few documents, filling in some details, some signatures, and done. Castiel had no idea if the process would have been harder for someone who wasn’t married into wealthy royalty, but for him, it was a well-oiled machine.

“We should fill in these papers,” he heard himself say. “Right? For the annulment.”

 _No,_ he wanted Dean to say. _Didn’t you hear me earlier? I said I had this, I had you. I meant I want to stay married._

But Dean said,

“Right. Papers. Yeah.”

”Do you have a printer?” Castiel said blankly, his heart sinking. So, whatever Dean had meant by that, it wasn’t that he wanted to stop the wedding to Lisa. Castiel couldn’t keep up with each new way he thought Dean felt.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “But we could just do it on my laptop.”

“They need signatures…”

Dean tapped definitively on his phone, obviously sending the message to Charlie, and then looked up at him.

“I got a thing for that,” he said. “We can do it all digitally.”

“Oh.”

Quietly, they went to work. Dean chewed on cold pizza while Castiel filled out his name, his address, his email, his phone number. The papers required his passport number, so he went to his room and picked it up, feeling disconnected from his own body, barely noticing that he was gone from Dean’s room before he was back in it and sitting on Dean’s bed to type out the numbers he needed.

He signed using the digital signature software, his name looking clumsy as he drew it using the trackpad.

When he was done, he handed the laptop to Dean, who was sitting beside him at the top of the bed.

“I’m supposed to serve you these papers through a disinterested third party,” Castiel said. Dean managed a wan smile.

“You’ve been disinterested in pretty much every party we’ve ever been to,” he said. “Third one probably included. So let’s say that counts.”

“I liked some of them,” Castiel argued.

“You liked more of them than I did, then. When we just hang out it’s better.”

Castiel remembered Garth Fitzgerald talking to him at the airport back in Las Vegas – what was it he’d said? Something about Dean actually getting to enjoy his night because he’d left the party and gone to just be with Castiel. Maybe there had been something in that after all, Castiel thought, despite his scepticism at the time.

“Yes,” he said quietly to Dean, after too long a pause. “It is.”

Dean didn’t look at him. His eyes were on the laptop screen, scrolling down through the pages of the legal documents.

Castiel didn’t leave the room as Dean got on with filling out the forms, though it was getting late and the sun was almost set. It didn’t feel right to go, and let Dean face sending off the papers alone. So instead, Castiel sat beside him.

With the problem of the pictures now in Charlie’s hands and the annulment papers signed, Castiel could feel his eyelids going heavy. The adrenaline that had fueled him all through the day after his early start was leaving him, and Dean’s bed was soft and comfortable, and he was already in pyjamas.

He let his eyes close. Once Dean was done with the papers, he’d say something, and Castiel would open them again. He could just let them rest for a second until then. He settled himself more comfortably against the pillows.


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel woke up to the sound of birdsong, and the scent of Dean’s bedsheets. Before he opened his eyes, he heard the sound of Dean breathing, slow and heavy.

Against the very edge of his little finger, there was something warm. Castiel squinted, and saw that it was Dean’s thumb, just resting against Castiel’s skin. Barely there, and yet definitely there.

Dean’s room was still mostly dark. Castiel had fallen asleep so early that he’d woken up with the dawn, and the cheeps and calls he could hear outside were the first warm-ups of the birds’ chorus. Castiel was lying down, the blankets tucked around him. He looked across at Dean, and wondered whether Dean had covered him, or whether he’d done it himself half-asleep. Castiel was usually out for the count once he dropped off, so it seemed more likely that Dean had done it.

Dean’s face was slack in sleep, his mouth slightly open. Castiel didn’t move his hand. He wasn’t sure, if he tried to move it, which way it would go. He knew he’d have to take it away, but the temptation to thread his fingers through Dean’s was a point of pain in his chest.

Castiel lay still, and beside him, Dean slept on. He was just a person, Castiel thought. Just a human being. The gloom of the bedroom left half his face in shadow. There were little lines on his forehead and at the edges of his eyes, barely stencilled in but promises of deeper wrinkles to come. One day Dean would be old. And what then? Who would be lying beside Dean in the morning, when his hair was grey and his bones ached? Who would wake up before dawn and hurt like this over the possibility of holding his hand?

How could it be anyone except Castiel?

How could Castiel live out the rest of his life without another morning tracing the pattern of Dean’s freckles with his gaze, or letting his breathing follow the pattern that Dean’s set?

The mornings that each of them had left in their lives, that finite number – a hundred, or a thousand, or twenty thousand each – how could they not spend them together?

In the quiet intimacy of Dean’s bedroom, curled up together in his bed, Castiel felt the unfairness of it fill him up until it overspilled and he said, in a murmur,

“It should be you and me.”

Dean shifted slightly, and his eyes blinked open. Castiel sucked in a breath of surprise.

“Hmm?” Dean said.

After a pause, heart hammering, Castiel murmured,

“I said, it’s very early.”

Dean looked at him with sleep-soft eyes for a long moment.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, his voice quiet.

They lay still. Castiel knew he should say something, should break the silence – at the very least, should find a pretext to move his hand away and sever the point of contact between them – but he couldn’t find any words. So they were speechless and unmoving, eyes travelling each other’s faces, gaze locking and unlocking, the gloom and stillness giving them permission to just look, and look, and look. There was a feeling of crescendo; with every second that neither of them spoke, it felt more as though they were building to something, as though the thing that finally did end the hush would have to acknowledge that it had been there for so long.

Castiel wanted to hold Dean’s hand. It would be monumental, just the slightest of movements, just the _hssh_ noise of his hand sliding a little further over the sheet and taking Dean’s.

 _He’s engaged to someone else,_ said the voice in his head.

 _He’s married to me,_ the voice argued back.

 _He got engaged to her before he got married to me_ , came the retort.

 _But I fell in love with him years ago,_ he heard the voice inside his head snap.

It was the first time he’d strung the words together so plainly and for a second, Castiel stopped thinking at all.

There was a crumbling sensation inside him, as the walls he’d tried to put up between himself and this exact realisation were breached at last. The sensation was pain and resignation, deep and bass, with just a little light fluting hum of adrenaline and happiness over the top.

 _I fell in love with him,_ Castiel thought. He looked across at Dean. The familiarity of his face. The shape of his body under the covers, the look in his eyes. _I’m in love with him. I love him._

And when you loved someone, in whatever way, wasn’t it a good thing? Didn’t it mean that rare things were possible, deeper connections? And because Castiel loved Dean like this, didn’t that mean it was possible they could touch? It was possible that Castiel could take Dean’s hand, and it could mean something good and real, because of how Castiel felt?

But it wasn’t about what he felt, Castiel knew. Because if what happened was only dependent on what he felt, himself, then the two of them would have married each other long ago, and Dean would never have got engaged to anyone else at all, and the whole sorry mess of it would never have started. But what happened also depended on what Dean felt. What Dean wanted.

Dean was frowning slightly, watching Castiel’s face. Castiel wondered how clearly his own feelings were written across it.

“What do we do?” Castiel said, ending the silence at last. He wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by the question. He only knew that he was in love, not if he was loved; he knew what he wanted to happen, not what would happen. It all depended on Dean.

Dean said,

“Let’s go to the barn.”

Castiel blinked.

“The barn?”

“Yeah.”

“Now?”

“No,” Dean said, “in fifty years. Yeah, man, now.”

“But…” Castiel tried to gather his thoughts. “It’s half an hour away. And maybe we should stay in the palace until we know what happened with the pictures, in the end.”

Dean sat up, pulling his hand away from Castiel’s so quickly that Castiel knew he’d been aware of the contact, too. He gave Castiel’s shoulder a push, just rough enough to be on the platonic side of early-morning touches.

“We texted Charlie,” he said. “It’s fine. She’ll have it handled. C’mon, let’s go.”

“What is happening?” Castiel said with feeling, rolling upright. He pushed a hand through his bedhead.

“What d’you mean?” Dean went over to his windows, and pushed open the curtains. Outside, the sky was still a milky dark blue, but there was a promise of greyish-pink at the horizon that Castiel could just make out through the glass.

“I thought we…” Castiel lost his courage mid-sentence, and swerved abruptly. “You’re just not usually this awake in the morning.”

“Dude, we fell asleep at freaking nine o’clock. Like a pair of old grandpas. Obviously I’m awake. Anyway, it’s been months since we went down there.”

“Um…” Castiel breathed out.

Yes, he could try to push for them to have some kind of conversation right here, right now, in Dean’s bedroom. It felt like they were trading off on the times they were each willing to talk, and where the day before Dean had been pushing to be open with each other, now it was Castiel who was left wanting to hear and say more. He could refuse to go, and insist on having a definitive discussion about their marriage and their feelings for each other. But, he reasoned again, if they had that conversation, Dean might not say the things that Castiel wanted him to.

And it had been months since they’d gone up to the barn together. _And_ dawn was always the best time to be there.

“It’s not a good idea,” Castiel said, even though he knew he was going to say yes, just to needle Dean for a little longer.

“When has that ever stopped us,” Dean said, walking across the room to his wardrobe and throwing open the doors.

Castiel managed a smile at that.

“Alright,” he said. “Fine.”

“Get dressed,” Dean said, not even acknowledging Castiel’s agreement – he’d known it was coming. “And can you throw me my phone so I can text Charlie and tell her we’re going?”

“Fine,” Castiel said again, but without any real bite to it. If he couldn’t have Dean lying in bed next to him, promising to break off the engagement and run away together, then at least he could have this: just the two of them, spending a little of what remained of their time being married all by themselves, at the old barn that had once been like a second home to them both.

Walking through the city in the early morning was better with Dean there. If Castiel needed more proof of how he felt, it was the simple comparison: the day before he’d walked through the city alone, and it had been good and beautiful. Today, he walked through the city with Dean at his side, and it was the best, the most beautiful. There were several people with whom the walk would have been better, but perhaps only one with whom it was the best.

They crossed over bridges, the turquoise canals beneath flowing slowly, bright and clear in the growing light before any boats sent ripples across their surface. They passed by buildings that Castiel knew like the backs of his own hands: the pub where he and Dean had had their first drink, along with Garth and Gordon and some of the other guys from school. The music shop where Dean had been spotted by the paparazzi and had given them a rendition of _Eye of the Tiger_ on air guitar for their trouble. The restaurant that always saved Dean a table in the window, because it served the best pie in town – the one where Dean had hoped to work one day, before he’d realised that being a Prince was a full-time job.

“We need to go,” Dean said, nodding his head at the restaurant as they passed it.

“We do.”

“Last time we were there, they said they might be adding pecan pie to the menu.”

“I remember,” Castiel said.

“God, that sounds good right now.”

“We should have brought food with us.”

“There’s some at the barn,” Dean said. Castiel wrinkled his nose.

“It’ll be bad,” he said.

“Nah. I took it up there right before Vegas.”

“You did?”

Dean nodded, and then shrugged.

“I went there by myself a couple times, the last few months.”

“Oh.”

During the time when Dean had been blanking Castiel, then, he’d been visiting their place together. Castiel didn’t know what to make of that. He put his hands into his coat pockets, and felt his fingers brush up against the ring on one side and the envelope of wedding pictures on the other. It felt like a century ago that Balthazar had handed them to him across the counter in the chapel’s reception.

Dean and Castiel’s path wound downwards, heading away from the city centre with its narrow streets and instead towards the sea. The wind picked up as they walked, carrying salty kisses for their cheeks and pushing playful hands through their hair. Just before they reached the port with its splinter-wood docks and scent of fresh fish for sale in the early morning, they turned off down a quiet alley and walked a little further with the stone under their feet gently disappearing into sand. The buildings on either side stopped suddenly, opening them out onto the curve of the sandy beach. The dawn had broken as they walked, and the sky was a gentle blue.

Dean made a sharp right, and flicked the numbers on a thick padlock before shoving at the heavy metal sliding door it had been keeping closed. With a screech, the entrance to the barn yawned wide, and Castiel followed Dean inside.

Nothing had changed – the barn was just how Castiel remembered it. On the far side of the building was another door, opening out onto the street beyond: that was how Dean had managed to get two cars in here, a wide old 1961 Pontiac Bonneville with her roof down, and her sibling, a 1967 Chevy Impala in black.

Dean went over to his cars, and put his hand on the Impala.

“Hey, Baby,” he said. “You look good.”

Castiel tried to repress his smile as Dean gently checked over his cars, frowning at any slight scuffs on their paint. The barn had originally been meant as a home only for them, a place for Dean to hide them so that they couldn’t be taken away by the Queen or any royal aides who might have foreseen crashes or late-night joyrides.

But over time, it had become a home for Dean and Castiel just as much as the cars. The nearer half of the barn had walls that were scrawled over with their graffiti over the years, and had a huge beaten-up old sofa that felt bigger even than the Pontiac when they sat on it. Dean kept the place spotlessly clean and well-kept to make sure that his cars were in top condition, so there was no sand on the floor or draughty holes in the walls. There was a cooler for beers, and a lockbox for snacks, and the wide-open sliding door looking out onto the sands and the sea for a view. When things had been too claustrophobic for Castiel at Saint Crispin’s, or too formal and overbearing for Dean at the palace, this was the place that they’d come to.

Just being inside it, Castiel felt himself breathing out. He was here. Dean was here. Things were bad, but they could be worse.

Castiel took a seat on the sofa, and after a moment Dean came and dropped down beside him.

For a while, they sat together and listened to the waves.

Dean wanted to say something. Castiel could tell by the way that he was sitting, and by the quality of the silence. He let the quiet draw out, hoping Dean would have the courage.

“Do you think we’re still married?” Dean asked, after a while. From the tone of his voice, Castiel thought it wasn’t what he’d really wanted to say, but he answered anyway.

“I don’t know,” he said, thinking of the legal papers they’d sent off the night before. “Maybe. Probably. I don’t think it works as fast as that.”

“Huh.”

More silence. Castiel could feel his stomach on the edge of a rumble, and hoped it wouldn’t. Dean would laugh at it, and the moment would be broken.

“Why’d you even do it?” Dean asked. More vulnerable, this time. This was closer to what Dean really wanted to know. Castiel looked over at him.

“Do what?”

“Get married that night.”

Castiel frowned.

“You did it too,” he pointed out. Dean shrugged.

“Yeah. But I know why I did it.”

“Why did you do it?” Castiel asked, immediately. Too fast. Dean folded his arms, and looked out at the sea.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“You just said…”

“Forget it, Cas.”

The silence turned sharp. Castiel listened to the sound of the rolling waves hissing up and down the sand, and breathed. There was that sea breeze again, easing the tightness in his chest. All he wanted was to forget about the words, the worries, the thousand reasons why it was a bad idea, and just lean over to Dean and let the rest happen. He wanted Dean close. He wanted to hold him and be held. He could feel the seconds of his life where he was Dean’s husband ticking away, the seconds in which it might possibly be okay for him to do it, to just ask with his hands for Dean’s touch.

“I can’t believe we forgot Jo was even there,” Dean said, cutting into his thoughts.

“No,” Castiel said, after a second to compose himself. “Me neither.”

“Do you think anyone else was there that we don’t know about?” Dean’s tone was light and joking, but with an undercurrent of real worry. It was true, Castiel realised: for all either of them remembered, the Queen herself might have been at the wedding in a banana costume and a party hat.

“The pictures,” Castiel said slowly.

“Huh?”

“The pictures. The wedding pictures.” Castiel put his hand back into his pocket, a little clumsily as his coat was rucked up behind him on the sofa, and pulled out the envelope that Balthazar had given to him. “We could look at them, and see if anyone else was there.”

“There are pictures? Of that night?”

“I meant to tell you.”

Castiel set the pictures down, still in their envelope, on the sofa between them. He hadn’t looked at them himself, not yet – partly because he hadn’t felt as though he’d had time, but also partly because he hadn’t made the time. He had an idea of what he might see if he looked, and he didn’t think he was ready.

Dean, across from him on the sofa, was leaning forwards with his legs a little apart, hands clasped between his knees, looking down at the envelope. Castiel stared at him for a moment, and then looked out across the sands towards the dawn horizon. The sun was peeking up over the sea, curious.

“Okay,” Dean said eventually, and reached out a hand, and picked up the envelope. He opened it, and slid out the photos. The stack was relatively small, Castiel could see out of the corner of his eye – and he tried to keep watching the view, but he found his eyes turning towards Dean, watching his expression as he flicked through the pictures.

Dean was clearly trying to keep his face blank, and he was failing.

With each new picture, something different crossed his features. With one, a slight smile. With one, what looked like a slight wince. With another, an eye-widening moment of apparent alarm. Until finally, he reached a picture and stopped moving, and simply looked at it.

“Who’s there with us?” Castiel asked him, trying to keep his tone easy. “Elton John?”

Dean looked up at him, no trace of recognition of the slightly lame joke on his face.

“No,” he said. “My brother.”

Castiel stopped short.

“Sam?” he said.

“Yeah. It was you and me and Jo and Sam.” Dean flipped the picture he’d been looking at, the one that he’d been staring at, to the back. When he held out the stack of photos to Castiel, it was with a touch of overdone carelessness. “See for yourself.”

Castiel swallowed, and then took the pictures. There were just four of them. In the first, there was everyone in the wedding party together, against a kitschy, flowery backdrop that the chapel obviously had ready for newlywed photoshoots – there was Jo grinning at the camera in her flight attendant uniform, and Castiel smiling at something out of shot with his tie askew and Dean’s arm around his shoulders, while Dean himself was looking at his brother and laughing. Sam, for his part, was standing at Dean’s side and grinning back at him.

They looked so happy that Castiel wanted to leap into the picture and join them. Hazy memories stirred at the sight of their laughter. He thought he could remember the feeling of Dean’s arm around him.

He flipped to the next photo, and found himself grimacing. They were all in exactly the same places and the photo was clearly taken just moments after the first, but this one seemed to prove that the relatively put-together effect of the first photo was a happy coincidence. In this one, they were so obviously drunk that Castiel wanted to shred the picture and hide it forever: Castiel had both his eyes closed, and Dean seemed to be singing something. Jo and Sam were watching the two of them, neither of them looking the worse for wear.

Castiel moved on to the next photo, and saw that Jo and Sam were leaving the frame – they were slightly blurry dark shapes on either side of the foreground, with just Dean and Castiel left in the background. A memory burst through the haze: Balthazar calling Jo and Sam away, and Dean and Castiel protesting, but then Balthazar had said – what had he said? _You just got married, how do you feel?_

The next photo that Castiel flipped to was the last. It was just him and Dean in the shot, and Balthazar had zoomed in so that they filled the frame. They were looking at each other, and –

Castiel couldn’t. He couldn’t look at it. He set the pictures back down on the sofa between himself and Dean.

He’d never seen his own face like that. Never once in any picture. Neither of them looked very drunk or particularly raucous. They were barely even smiling. But somehow, even still, they looked so painfully happy that Castiel couldn’t bear to see it. It was in their eyes.

Surely Dean couldn’t go ahead with the royal wedding. He had to break off the engagement. There was no one else in the world who could make Castiel look like that, and he’d never seen Dean seem so much at peace, either. And yes, Dean making a good match was important, and yes, Dean needed to preserve his reputation to be a good king. But he wasn’t just a royal, he was a person, and he deserved happiness, and Castiel thought – after looking at those photos – that maybe they could be happy together.

“Dean,” Castiel said, just as Dean asked,

“We can still be friends, right? After I marry Lisa?”

Castiel fell silent. The tone of Dean’s voice was distant.

There was nothing to do except look out at the sea. Fuzzily, as though he’d been shot and was waiting for the pain to start.

He could feel Dean turn to look at him.

“Right?” Dean asked.

“I…” Castiel felt cold, all the way through. “You’ll still marry her, then.”

He heard Dean swallow.

“My mom…” he said.

“I know.”

“She sent me a text last night about how proud she’ll be on my wedding day.” Dean swallowed hard. “I can’t let her down, Cas.”

“I know.” Castiel did know. He’d just let himself start hoping again, without even meaning to. He’d got it into his head that he was the only one stopping something happening between them, because of his talk with Mary and her explanation of why Dean had to marry Lisa. But he’d been wrong.

“But I want… I mean, we can still be friends,” Dean said.

Castiel pressed his lips together.

“I can’t imagine my life without you in it,” he said tightly, after a moment.

Dean didn’t say anything to that.

“We should go back to the palace,” Castiel said eventually. “We should go back.”

It was in a numb silence that Castiel waited for Dean to close up the door, and they left the barn behind.


	12. Chapter 12

They walked back through the city without speaking.

Castiel was lost in his own thoughts. His chest was aching, and at first he thought it was just the usual pain he felt when his dream bubbles popped and he realised he’d never be able to be with Dean – but there was something underneath the hurt, now, something harder, something that tasted bitter.

He was angry, Castiel realised. He was – no, not just angry, he was furious. He walked through the streets of Mariport as the city woke up, and he wanted to punch a wall, he wanted to kick at the trunks of the trees that they passed, he wanted to go off in an explosion right at the centre of a big deserted bridge and take the whole thing down with him. He wanted, very suddenly and very badly, to tear apart this city that was his and Dean’s home, take it down brick by brick until there was nowhere left for Dean to rule.

What did it even matter, anyway? It was just a city. A thing. Stone and cement and steel. Mariport had no heart. No soul. Mariport couldn’t look into Dean’s eyes as though it had never been truly happy until the moment of their union. Why did it matter at all compared to what there could be between himself and Dean? Castiel had never been more sure that there really and truly could be something between them.

He spared a moment to wonder how it had started, for Dean. When he’d first felt something. He wondered how many of their years as friends they’d wasted by not talking, not wanting to be the first to make a move.

Thinking about that made Castiel’s teeth clench. He really did want to hit a wall. He could imagine the satisfaction of the punch. It would probably hurt his hand a lot more than the wall, but it would be something. And something, anything, would surely be better than just walking down the early-morning street next to Dean as though nothing was wrong.

“Hey, Linda,” called a voice from across the way, loud enough to interrupt Castiel’s thoughts. “How’s Kevin today?”

“He’s still studying,” called back another voice, from Castiel’s other side. Two women stepped out onto the street just ahead of where Dean and Castiel were walking, coming out of their front doors on opposite sides.

“No,” said the first woman. “Still? Tell him to come over later for a palm-reading.”

“Pamela, you know we don’t believe in…”

“I know, I know,” the woman named Pamela said, waving away the second woman’s protests. “No one’s asking you to believe in it. I just think it’ll get him out of his own head for a second or two…”

Dean and Castiel kept walking, and the women’s voices faded into the distance. But now that Castiel had been disturbed from his inner thoughts, he found himself paying more attention to the people around them as they walked: shop owners unlocking their doors and calling out greetings to each other, parents taking their children for early-morning walks, dog-owners strolling next to their pets.

There was the smell of magnolias in the air, along with a lasting brush of sea-salt and a hint of laundry powder as they passed a laundromat. Castiel closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

The anger in his chest unwound just a fraction. Begrudgingly, he reminded himself: the city did have a heart, because its people had hearts. It had a soul because its people had souls. It breathed and loved and died with them.

And it didn’t deserve to have its bricks torn up – or its royal heir stolen away into a bad marriage that would send its government into a tailspin. Which would result in an atmosphere of uncertainty at the very best, and a serious economic downturn at the worst – just because Castiel had fallen in love.

His was one life; the city held hundreds of thousands.

Dean was doing the right thing. And Castiel had to do the right thing, too, even though it dug a pit of anger in him that started in his chest and went as deep as his stomach.

And while doing the right thing, Dean was trying to find a way for them still to be close. He was fighting for them. Back at Saint Crispin’s, he’d asked Castiel to fight for them, too.

“Dean,” he said. Dean, who had been walking beside him in moody silence, looked over. “Yes, I will.”

Dean looked nonplussed.

“You will?” he said.

“I’ll still be your friend,” Castiel said. “After you marry Lisa.”

Dean’s face seemed to fall. Maybe he’d been hoping Castiel would insist on selfishness, demand that they elope. A part of Castiel still wanted to.

“Okay,” Dean said out loud. They were passing the last row of shops before the gentle slope towards the palace began: there was the corner shop where Castiel had used to go to buy them whisky late at night, and there was the cafe that sold marzipan cake, and there was the newsagents –

Castiel came to a halt.

He sensed Dean stop beside him, while the slowly growing throng of people around them kept moving.

“Cas?”

Castiel couldn’t move. His eyes were fixed on the newsagents. The morning papers were stacked outside it, on shelves that tilted them upright so people could read the headlines and easily grab a copy. The front pages of each paper were almost the same, all showing similar pictures of the same scene, with big headlines splashed across them. Castiel recognised that scene. He recognised his own face, and Dean’s.

He stepped forward on legs that felt unsteady, and the headlines came into focus.

_A Right Royal Mess! Prince Dean’s Secret Wedding_

_Royal Engagement Doesn’t “Ring” True!_

_Married in Las Vegas? Dean’s Secret Shame_

“No,” Castiel said, walking closer. “No, no –”

“Shit,” Castiel heard Dean swear viciously behind him. “Oh, shit. _Shit.”_

“It can’t be.” Castiel reached the newspapers and picked one up. There it was, stark and slightly oversaturated: he saw his own face printed there on the front page of the Mail, slightly blurry and dark through the window of Saint Crispin’s. Opposite him was, quite clearly, Dean. They looked tense, and Dean’s mouth was open as though he was speaking. And between them, they were each holding a golden ring.

“Maybe we can just tell your mother that it’s not what it looks like?” Castiel said, following a few steps behind Dean, who was striding through the doors of the palace and into the hall.

“Where the hell is Charlie,” was all Dean said in response. “Where the _hell_ is she.” He pointed to a footman in uniform. “Please go and check for Charlie Bradbury in her office.”

“Yes, Sir.” The footman hurried away, while Dean moved for the stairs. He had a kind of lean, angry grace to him as he took the steps two at a time, Castiel following silently behind, still hearing his heart in his ears.

“Where are we going?” Castiel asked.

“Charlie’s apartments. North Wing,” Dean snapped back. Not frustrated with him personally, Castiel knew, just generally furious. He swallowed his questions and arguments, and followed.

So. Everyone knew. _Everyone._ The papers were out there. All of Corelia was waking up to the news that their Crown Prince had married his best friend while drunk in Las Vegas. Castiel had made a laughing stock of Dean and his whole family. His whole country, too, once the news spread internationally, which it would. And it was done, no way to erase it. Running for Charlie now was pointless, like trying to sellotape the bag shut when the cat was already out of it.

Everyone knew.

At the top of the stairs, Dean turned away from the corridor to his own room and Castiel’s room, and took the hallway that led in the opposite direction. His hands were clenched into fists. Castiel followed close behind as he pushed through one door that led into a small reception room, strode through that, emerged into another corridor, turned a corner –

Dean let out a little grunt of surprise and came to a stop so suddenly that Castiel ran into the back of him – and then Castiel saw what had halted Dean in his tracks and tried to stand up straight, and play off his crash into Dean as just brushing something off the shoulder of his jacket.

Lisa stood in the centre of the corridor, looking between the two of them.

“Uh,” Dean said.

“Hello,” Castiel managed. “Your Grace.”

“Hi,” Lisa said. Not a hair on her head was out of place, but there was something off-guard about her expression, even though she was making a visible effort to hitch back on her smile.

“We were just…” Castiel began.

“Looking for Charlie,” Dean finished.

“Oh,” Lisa said. “She’s in her apartment.”

“Right,” Dean said. “Thanks.”

Lisa ducked her head, and quickly slipped past them in the corridor and walked away. Dean immediately pressed on towards Charlie’s room, but Castiel took a second to watch after her. The Duchess’ room was all the way across the palace, and even though this was soon to be her home, Castiel wouldn’t have expected Lisa to break protocol and go meandering through parts of the palace where she hadn’t been invited.

“Cas,” Dean called tersely from the end of the corridor.

“Coming,” Castiel said, and followed on. After one turn, and then another, and through one final set of doors, they reached the door to Charlie’s room. It was a plain white double door: this part of the palace was mostly where the live-in employees stayed, with whole apartments set aside for them. It was newer than the wing where Dean and Castiel lived, without the frescoes and the golden wall mouldings.

Dean knocked on the door, using the flat of his hand rather than his knuckles so that he could hit harder. He looked over at Castiel as if waiting to be told to calm down, and Castiel stepped forward, and hit the door too.

“I told you,” said Charlie’s voice, muffled, from inside. “We can’t do this! It’s not right!”

“Charlie?” Dean said, and tried the door handle, but it was locked. He raised his voice. “Charlie, it’s me. Let me the hell in, right now.”

“Dean? Oh, god. Oh my god.” There was the sound of something falling on the other side of the door, and then some scrambling, and then the door was unlocked and flung open. Charlie stood framed in the doorway. Her short hair was wild, half of it pressed to her face and the other half sticking out at an odd angle – and her eyes were red and puffy, as though she’d been crying. “I just got your text – it’s all over the news –”

“I texted you,” Dean growled. “What the hell happened?”

“I…” Charlie wiped a hand over her face. “I didn’t get the text.”

“But I texted you,” Dean said. “That’s the system. What – what the hell do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said, and Castiel watched her bottom lip tremble for a second before she turned away to compose herself. Beyond her, Castiel could see that her place was a mess. She wiped her eyes, still facing away from them. “You, um –” She sniffed. “What, um, what were you both doing holding wedding rings, anyway?”

Behind her back, Castiel turned to look at Dean.

 _You didn’t tell her everything?_ he mouthed.

Dean’s look of anger was briefly diluted by a caught-out expression.

 _Why not?_ Castiel asked.

Now Dean looked exasperated, as though the answer was obvious. Maybe it was, Castiel thought.

Charlie turned back around again, and Dean and Castiel quickly pulled straight faces against her sudden scrutiny.

“What were you doing?” she repeated. “‘Cause maybe if we can just tell the papers the truth about what was going on in that picture, then this will all go away.”

She was assuming that the conclusion the press had come to was wrong, then. She wasn’t even going to ask them if they were married.

“Um,” Castiel said, reaching for one of the lousy excuses he’d tried to cook up the night before when he’d still thought that going to Charlie wasn’t an option. “We were… practising.”

“Practising?”

“For Dean’s big day,” Castiel said, trying to sound as though this was a perfectly obvious thing to do. “We were practising how it would go.”

Charlie made a face of disbelief.

“Anyway,” Dean cut in, halting Charlie’s clear intent to keep questioning Castiel. “What were _you_ doing last night?”

“I was…” Charlie swallowed hard. “I… okay.” She took a deep breath, and then let it go. “Okay. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be fired from this job today. So before I answer that question, let me just say that… well, working here has been… um…” Her voice wobbled and she seemed suddenly to run out of steam, and put her face into her hands. Dean and Castiel shared another glance across the room, confirming each other’s confusion.

“Charlie,” Dean said. “What’s going on? What – did you… let this happen on purpose?”

Charlie’s head jerked up.

“No!” she said. “No – Jesus, no.”

“Then…”

“I was drunk,” Charlie said in a rush. “I got really drunk last night.” Dean’s eyes were immediately going wide and meeting Castiel’s. Charlie was looking down at the carpet, and didn’t see. “I – I don’t know. There isn’t an explanation that would make any sense. I just got really drunk and didn’t check my phone, and it was really stupid…” Her voice started to shake again. “And I didn’t think anything like this would happen but I should’ve been prepared for it, and I just – it was so stupid. I’m so sorry. I know sorry isn’t enough. If you want to fire me right now, I get it. If you want me to help patch this up and then go, I get that. Whatever you want to do with me, I’ll take it. I’m just – I can’t believe this is happening, and – part of me still feels like this has got to be a bad dream, I can’t… I’m sorry, I’m a mess…”

She turned away again, towards the hallway of her apartment, her hands over her face.

 _Dean,_ Castiel mouthed.

Dean waved him off. He already knew what Castiel was going to say, what he was thinking. Because of course the two of them couldn’t decide to fire Charlie for getting drunk and doing something stupid. If anything, it meant she was more a part of their team than she had been before. Just a trio of heavy drinkers and bad decisions.

“Charlie,” Dean said to Charlie’s back. “You’re not fired.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Charlie scoffed, clearly trying to sound matter-of-fact through her tears. “You have to fire me.”

“I’m not gonna,” Dean said solidly.

“But –”

“Charlie, you know I couldn’t do a day of the royal bullshit without you,” Dean said. “You’re not an employee. You’re, you know.” He looked angry about having to say it. “A friend. Can’t fire you from being a friend.” Charlie turned around to look at him, and he shrugged. “You screwed up. I’ve done it before. We just… I just need your help with fixing it.”

Charlie stared at him for a long time. Her eyes searched his face, seeming to be checking for any sign that this was some kind of cruel joke, or maybe that Dean was just being kind and really did want to fire her. When she only saw what Castiel knew would be on Dean’s face – mulish honesty – she wiped a hand across her cheek, drying the tears. And then she crossed the short distance between herself and Dean, and pulled him into a sharp hug.

Dean looked surprised, and muttered a soft _okay,_ but hugged her back. Castiel wondered how many tired nights and long days and public outings and small crises they’d weathered together, to build up to this.

“Okay,” Charlie said, letting Dean go. “Okay. Jesus. Time to do damage control.”

“We need a story,” Dean said. “About what happened in there.”

“Why don’t we just tell them the truth?” Charlie asked, wiping at her eyes, and tucking her hair behind her ears.

“We need a story,” Dean said again, flatly. Charlie looked at him for a second, and then seemed to shrug internally, and nodded.

“Story,” she said. “Right. I’ll work on it. Castiel, you call Saint Crispin’s. I know no one down there would want to make this worse, but just remind them that they shouldn’t speak to any reporters, _at all,_ and tell them I’m sending some security down there to keep the kids safe until this blows over. Dean…” Charlie swallowed. “We should speak to the Queen.”

What little colour had been returning to Dean’s face drained away again.

“We don’t have to,” he said.

“And leave her to come and find you?” Charlie said sceptically.

“... Fine.”

“She’ll be having breakfast soon. We’ll go down there. If Lisa…” Charlie swallowed. “If the Duchess is there, I’ll ask to… show her the chandelier in the ballroom, or something. Try to let you break it to the Queen without her there, at least. I could even tell the Duchess, too. So you don’t have to do that.”

“Uh… yeah, alright,” Dean said, looking confused by the offer but too nervous to care. He turned to Castiel. “Cas,” he said. “You don’t have to come.”

Castiel gave him a look, and Dean held up his hands.

“Just sayin’,” he said.

“If you don’t want me there,” Castiel said, “tell me. Otherwise, I’ll go with you.”

“Then come,” Dean said.

And maybe that was all they were, Castiel thought, as the two of them waited outside Charlie’s room while she got dressed and then headed together through the corridors and down the palace’s main staircase. Him and Dean, maybe all they were was a series of opportunities to leave each other to face things alone that they never took, strung together by day-to-day life in between. It felt as natural as breathing to tell Dean that he was coming too. Even if the place they were going was nowhere he wanted to be.


	13. Chapter 13

The Queen had her back to them when they entered the dining room.

She was wearing a pale pink blouse with wide sleeves, today, and slender-fitting white trousers. Her hair was in a neat chignon at the back of her neck. She was standing perfectly still, looking out of the doors that led onto the terrace where she grew her flowers.

Lisa was sitting at the dining room table, her face unreadable. When Dean, Castiel, and Charlie entered, she looked straight to Charlie, and then to Dean.

On the table in front of her was a newspaper, bearing the picture that was already too familiar to Castiel.

“Your Majesty,” Charlie said, bowing even though the Queen’s back was turned, and then turning to Lisa. “Your Grace. Would you walk with me through the palace this morning? We have some particularly fine, um, glasswork, and… paintings, and… yeah.”

It was so lame that Castiel winced, expecting Lisa to brush Charlie off without even acknowledging she’d spoken – but to his surprise, Lisa got to her feet in a smooth movement and nodded, wordlessly following Charlie from the room.

The door swung shut behind them. The Queen must have already dismissed the breakfast attendants, because she, Dean, and Castiel were alone in the dining room. The air in the room was iced over, the silence was so frosty.

The Queen didn’t speak.

Dean looked over at Castiel, who glanced helplessly back.

_What am I supposed to say to her?_ Dean had asked Charlie, on the way down.

_Just tell her the truth,_ Charlie had said impatiently. _Whatever that is. I’ll spin a story for the press, but she’s your mother, she doesn’t need to hear the edited version._

So here they were, the two of them, with no story and no defence.

“Mom…” Dean said, and Mary’s shoulders tensed. She turned, and took in the sight of them both standing near the entrance to the room, side by side.

“We will wait for your brother,” she said. “I’ve asked for Sam to be woken up for this.”

Dean swallowed audibly, and nodded.

The silence stretched on. Mary turned back to the window. Dean made eye contact with Castiel, his glance full of suppressed panic. Castiel didn’t know what face to make in return. He had no idea what Dean was going to do, how they were going to get out of this. A part of him – a selfish, angry part of him – hoped that they wouldn’t get out of this. That the Queen would say, _Dean, you can never be King and you can’t marry Lisa now. Leave the palace with Castiel and do whatever you want to do._

Just the image of the two of them walking away, hand in hand, from this beautiful palace that weighed so heavily on the both of them – Castiel steeled himself and tried to turn his thoughts to something else to ease the sudden catch in his throat. He wanted that freedom, for himself and for Dean.

But Dean didn’t want that. What seemed like freedom to Castiel would feel to Dean like losing everything. For Dean’s sake, Castiel had to set aside this anger, the persuasive rage that was telling Castiel it would be a good idea to smash some of the nice dishware currently sparkling on the elegant dining table, and make a hand gesture at the Queen, and then make a bid for the door.

The door which opened, with a suddenness that made the Queen spin around to look. Sam entered the room, his brow a little shiny and his long hair framing his face.

“Mom,” he said, by way of greeting. “Dean. Cas.”

“Your Highness,” Castiel answered, with the little inclination of the head that tradition dictated.

“What’s going on,” Sam said, with enough calmness that Castiel knew Sam had a very good idea about what was going on, and had decided to play ignorant for now. Castiel watched Sam meet his brother’s eyes, and a moment of understanding passed between them.

The Queen looked to her eldest son, and raised her eyebrows. When Dean cleared his throat, looking for the words, she folded her arms in anticipation.

“Uh,” Dean said. He gestured with one hand at the newspaper on the table. “There are some pictures in there of me ‘n’ Cas. Holding rings. They’re saying we got married in Vegas. All the papers are saying it, pretty much.”

“Are they?” Sam said, and if Castiel hadn’t seen photographic evidence of Sam at their wedding, he would have sworn Sam had no idea about the truth behind the headlines. The younger prince’s neutral face never twitched.

Dean looked down at the ground, while Sam glanced over at their mother. Mary waited for the silence to stretch out uncomfortably, and for both Dean and Castiel to be watching her, before she spoke.

“I have never,” she said coolly, “experienced anything like this.”

The remoteness in her voice filled Castiel’s stomach with dread. Somehow, despite all his horror and panic, it was really only coming home to him now as he stood in front of the Queen that they’d done something monumentally and historically bad.

They weren’t just two people who’d got married. Books could be written about the fact that it had happened, one day. Eyes were on them.

“It’s… it’s not…” Dean began, and trailed off.

Mary arched an eyebrow.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Please.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Dean said.

Mary walked forward. She picked up the newspaper on the table, and held it loosely in one hand. She was perfectly steady.

“Tell me what’s really happening in this picture,” she said.

“It’s just a picture,” Dean said. Castiel stood silently by his side. He knew better than to try to intervene.

“It’s a picture of you, with Castiel, holding wedding rings,” Mary said. Her voice betrayed no anger, her composure complete.

“Yeah. It is.” Dean’s tone was becoming more belligerent the longer Mary spoke to them with so much poise.

“And?”

“And, it is what it is,” Dean said. Castiel struggled to keep his face straight.

Mary stared at Dean for a long, long moment. Castiel wondered what she’d taken from that answer. She must at least suspect the truth.

“Here is what’s going to happen,” she said softly. “If there is anything – _anything_ – that might stop you from getting married in two days’ time, you are going to take steps to remove those obstacles.”

“I already have,” Dean muttered.

“You are going to apologise to the Duchess of Someria for putting her through public humiliation so close to her wedding day,” the Queen said, as though she hadn’t heard.

“Okay.”

_“Both_ of you.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Castiel said quietly.

“And,” the Queen finished, “you’re going to make a statement to the press. You are going to tell them that you are not married to Castiel, and you’re never going to be.”

Dean hesitated.

Castiel breathed out.

And the hesitation drew out, slowly, impossibly, into an outright silence.

Slowly, Castiel’s eyes crept over to meet Dean’s. But Dean was staring at the floor, his jaw tight. Castiel looked past Dean to Sam, who was staring at his brother.

“Uh,” Sam said, when Dean didn’t move. “Mom, I… I mean, surely if the apology is public, then we don’t need to address the rumours about a relationship between Dean and… and Cas directly. An apology to the Duchess, and the wedding going ahead, will do that for us. Right?”

“I want it clear,” Mary said crisply.

“But –”

“Dean is a Prince of United Corelia,” Mary said. “This isn’t just about who he marries. It’s about who he _is_. The Prince of our country cannot be a man who’d promise marriage to one person and then marry someone else.”

“I never promised to marry Lisa,” Dean said, his voice so deep that Castiel felt the anger radiating through it. “You did that for me.”

“You agreed to the match,” the Queen said. “You said you’d go through with it if I chose someone you had a history with, someone you’d met when you were young. We _agreed_.”

“This isn’t what I –” Dean cut himself off, and turned away. Sam was watching him, an open compassion on his face that Castiel knew Dean would have hated if he had seen it.

“You could have said no at first,” the Queen said. “As soon as I told you that the match had been agreed, you could have said something…”

Castiel watched Dean’s shoulders move ever so slightly up and down as he breathed.

“I couldn’t let you down, Mom,” he said at last.

When Castiel turned to look at the Queen, he saw a moment of heartbreak on her face, before it was smoothed over.

“And I don’t want you to let yourself down,” she said. “Dean, I just want people to think well of you. I want them to see you like I see you. As a good man. And, one day, a good King.” She walked forward, and stepped around Dean to face him. She reached up, and put her hand on his cheek. “So let’s do what we need to do to secure this marriage and get it all over with. Okay? Then we can all go back to normal, just the way things should be.”

Castiel stared at her. And for a second, he couldn’t help but hate her, just a little. She had the weight of a country’s wellbeing on her shoulders and he knew why she had to try to pull this off – she’d explained it all to him, the economy, the riches of Someria, the politics. But in front of her was her son, clearly letting himself be trapped in a cage that she was building around him, allowing her to do it just because he loved her that much.

In her place, Castiel would have torn it all down for Dean. He knew it then, more sharply and more clearly than ever before. Even in the face of all the hardship it might cause the country, even though it would be selfish and emotional and single-minded, Castiel would have torn down the royal house of Winchester just to see the aching tension in Dean’s shoulders ease.

But Mary just looked into Dean’s eyes, and eventually he said,

“Okay, Mom.”

Castiel willed his own head not to drop, for his face to stay emotionless. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he could see Sam watching him, and pressed his lips together hard to hold himself steady.

“Okay,” Mary said. “Come on, then. Let’s go and find Lisa and make a start on that apology. Castiel?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll be right behind you.” The idea of traipsing through the palace in the immediate wake of the Queen and her Crown Prince to apologise to Lisa was just a shred more than Castiel could bear. He needed a moment to gather himself in private.

Mary and Dean left without another word, Mary’s hand on Dean’s shoulder. Castiel turned away from them before they reached the door, and tried to collect his thoughts.

“Cas,” Sam said.

Castiel didn’t know whether his eyes would look full if he turned around, so he kept facing away.

“It’s alright,” he said. “I just need a moment.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. Just hearing the words almost broke Castiel in two. Somehow, it had been easier to seem cool and unruffled in the face of the Queen’s quiet determination that things were going according to plan. Sam acknowledging that something was wrong was almost too much.

He said nothing.

“I know what he’d do,” Sam said. “If he had the choice.”

Didn’t Dean have a choice? Castiel wondered. But then, Castiel had never known his own parents. Raised in Saint Crispin’s, and as close as he was to Jody and Donna, he had no idea what it would be like to have his mother ask him to do something like this. Maybe it didn’t feel like much of a choice at all.

“It’s your business,” Sam said awkwardly. “But if there’s something I can do…”

Castiel breathed out.

“No,” he said. “It’s alright.”

He thought for a second, and then said,

“Well, actually. Maybe one day you can tell me the story of that night in Las Vegas.” He turned around, and looked into Sam’s sad eyes. “I wish I remembered it better.”

Sam managed a half-smile.

“You guys were pretty far gone,” he said.

“We were.” Castiel began to move for the door, not wanting to tempt the Queen’s displeasure by waiting too long to go after her. Sam fell into step with him as they left the dining room, following the sounds of voices down the corridors. “Sam… I wanted to say, thank you.”

“Thank you?” Sam sounded taken aback. “What for?”

“You kept what happened in Las Vegas a secret. You didn’t have to do that. And I know you didn’t do it for me, but it allowed us this long to try to figure out a way to handle it. So, thank you.”

The two of them passed through one of the grander reception rooms, and Castiel offered a cursory glance to the frescoes on the ceiling and the large golden clock on the mantelpiece, and the brocade curtains that he’d always used to hide behind whenever he and Dean played hide and seek in the palace. Sam would often tag along in those games, too, with Dean and Castiel working hard to make just enough noise for Sam to find them easily.

“I wouldn’t…” Sam shrugged. “You know. It’s nothing, Cas.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Castiel said. “But I’m still grateful.”

Sam nodded his head, with a touch more royal dignity and a little less shy awkwardness than Castiel was used to. He glanced sideways, and noticed that Sam had filled out recently, his face looking less like a tall boy’s, and more like a young man’s.

“Some days I hate this place,” Sam said, out of nowhere.

“But you work so hard,” Castiel said.

“Yeah. I mean, not all of it’s bad.”

“And you do so much good. The trains, and the parks…”

“I know,” Sam said. “But still.”

“Still?”

“Still,” Sam said, and didn’t seem to want to elaborate further.

“The country needs you,” Castiel said. He thought he saw Sam smile wryly out of the corner of his eye.

“It needs Dean, too,” Sam said. “Tell me you wouldn’t take him away anyway, if you could.”

Castiel had no answer for that, and he was saved having to think of one as they entered the East reception room and found themselves looking at Mary, Dean, and Lisa standing together on the light-coloured, luxuriously thick rug draped over the mahogany floor. Charlie was just a respectful few paces away, her eyes attempting to wander over the impressive collection of Winchester family portraits in the room – but straying to watch the Queen, the Prince, and the Duchess as they talked.

Gritting his teeth, Castiel approached them, and offered quick formal bows to the Queen and the Duchess, and a nod for Dean.

“Your Grace,” Castiel said directly to Lisa, deciding to get it over with. “I’m sorry for the wrong that has been done to you. If there is a way for me to make amends for the hurt and embarrassment, I hope you will tell me.”

His eyes flicked to Mary, who gave a very slight nod of approval. Good enough, then. Castiel glanced back to Lisa, unable to bear thinking about looking at Dean.

“Castiel,” Lisa said. “The Queen was just explaining. It’s really not your fault at all. I know what the press can be like… anything for a story, right? People’s lives don’t matter so much as selling papers.” She offered him a smile that looked far more miserable than Castiel had expected. The gossip must truly have hurt her. “As for making amends… well. It was just suggested that Dean and I might go on a walk in the gardens tomorrow, to set things right between us before the wedding. Why don’t you come too?”

Castiel stiffened. He sensed, rather than saw, the Queen’s back go suddenly straight.

“My dear,” the Queen began, but she was interrupted.

“That’s a good idea,” Dean said stoutly.

“Yes. And Charlie could come with us,” Lisa said. “To make sure the three of us get along.”

“Um,” Castiel said. He could feel the Queen’s eyes burning through the air between them, demanding that he make eye contact with her so that she could firmly signal _no –_ but Castiel didn’t look at her. Instead, he looked at Dean, who nodded at him, and then over to Charlie, whose expression was one of repressed hopefulness, and then back to Lisa.

If he asked himself whether he wanted to chaperone a romantic walk between Dean and Lisa on the day before their wedding, the answer was a resounding _no._ And yet – the Queen was radiating her disapproval, and before Castiel could stop it, anger and a hint of spite were shaping a single word.

“Yes,” he said. And after a moment, he added, “Thank you, your Grace. Yes, I’ll be there.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Wow,” Sam said, as he entered the main courtyard of the palace from the South wing. “I didn’t know this walk was gonna be a real… expedition.”

Castiel watched him meet Dean’s eyes, and watched Dean shrug.

“The Duchess suggested we could spend a little more time together if we took food and had a picnic,” Dean said, and even Castiel couldn’t read his tone of voice. If he had to guess, Dean was feeling pretty good about the inclusion of food, and pretty bad about everything else that was happening.

Charlie was standing over by four satchels, helping Lisa to pack the last few parcels of food inside them. Lisa was wearing a pair of light brown trousers, boots, and a loose-fitting long-sleeved white top with wide sleeves that looked a little piratical; Charlie, meanwhile, had opted for a modern outdoorsy look, with skinny-fitting dark trousers and a camouflage tank-top.

Castiel himself was dressed much as he usually was, and so was Dean. He’d woken up this morning thinking that the walk would probably last half an hour or so, and was slowly sinking into dismay at the idea of spending half the day or more in the company of Lisa and Dean trying to fall in love.

“Well,” Sam said, “enjoy yourselves.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, and this time Castiel did hear the sardonic tone of his voice. So did Charlie, apparently, because her head jerked up and she narrowed her eyes at Dean.

“Hey,” she said. “No being grumpy just because it’s exercise.”

“I exercise,” Dean said, clearly stung, and Charlie grinned at the hit as she swung her satchel onto her back. The sun was shining on her red hair, which she’d drawn back into a ponytail.

“Sure,” she said. “But you know, hand to mouth as you reach for cookies doesn’t count.”

 _Should’ve picked pie for the most accurate hit,_ Castiel thought to himself, but kept his mouth shut and only accepted his own satchel when Lisa handed it to him with a smile.

“Where are you walking?” Sam asked.

“Not too far,” Dean grunted. “Thought we could go down to the lake and do the loop around it.”

“Oh, nice,” Sam said. “I can call ahead to the warden, have him clear the area for you.”

“Already done,” Charlie said smugly, and then seemed to remember herself and added, “but thank you for the offer, your Highness.”

“Let’s go,” Dean said, who seemed to be operating from a _sooner this starts, sooner this finishes_ mindset. Sam gave them all an amused-looking wave that was tinged with maybe just a hint of compassion, and the four walkers climbed together into the large car that was waiting for them.

The ride to the lake was mostly silent. Castiel wanted to stare out of the window, but had somehow managed to find himself sitting in the middle seat between Lisa and Dean while Charlie sat opposite them, so tried to seem natural while looking down at his own hands and thinking about the lawyers and whether the annulment papers were going to come through in time for the wedding the next day. So far all he’d had was an automated response that the firm had received his email and would reply as soon as possible.

If they didn’t come through, what then? Did they just go on with everything as though it didn’t matter? Did it even really matter, when Dean was a Prince? Surely there was enough money in the royal coffers to make this kind of problem melt away. Or at the very least, keep it behind closed doors – so long as the PR manager wasn’t busy getting drunk.

Castiel glanced across the car at Charlie, who had been watching Lisa – but she blinked and gave him a tight smile when she felt his gaze on her. He returned it, and then went back to looking at his hands. There hadn’t really been time to talk about it in amongst everything else that had happened, but it was out of the ordinary – more than that, it was almost unimaginable – to think of Charlie deciding to get drunk while she was supposed to be working. Any other time, it would have been all he’d be thinking about, wondering if Charlie was alright and if she was under too much stress. As it was, Castiel didn’t even know how to add another problem to the pile.

Still, he thought he’d try to talk to her about it if there was a quiet moment during the walk. It would be something to think about that wasn’t the fact that if he and Charlie were alone, that would mean Lisa and Dean were alone, too. Doing whatever two engaged people do when they’re alone on a romantic walk.

Their ride pulled to a graceful stop and Dean was the first out, quickly shoving his arms through his satchel straps with a forcefulness that was almost aggressive and then turning impatiently back towards the car.

“Oof,” Charlie said in a low voice to Castiel, as she moved past him to exit the car too. “This is gonna be good.”

Castiel managed a half-smile, which quickly dropped when Charlie couldn’t see him. He stepped outside, and looked around him at the familiar sight; the lake was somewhere Dean had come with Sam most often, but Castiel had been here enough to know the shape of the land and where the different paths led. They were standing in a gravelled parking space just off the road, and three footpaths wound away from where they stood: one to the left, one to the right, and one straight ahead, all leading into dense woodland.

The woods were the same brilliant golden-green that Castiel remembered, each tree thick-trunked and old, with ferns and little flowers growing at their sprawling roots.

“Okay,” Dean said gruffly, when they’d all left the car and were standing, ready, with their satchels on their backs. “Let’s go.”

He wasn’t meeting Castiel’s eyes, and Castiel looked away from him down the path he knew they’d take – the one to the right, that led to the lake.

“Great,” Lisa said after a moment, and followed Dean’s lead. The four of them moved off, banded together in a loose group, with Castiel somehow finding himself at the centre again with Dean on one side and Lisa on the other, with Charlie walking a little behind. Was she doing that on purpose as a formality, Castiel wondered? Did Lisa expect him to be doing the same thing, as Castiel himself was obviously not nobility? Dean never wanted him to show any deference and he was used to not having to think about it. Castiel attempted to hang back a pace, and found both Dean and Lisa matching him, making sure he stayed between them.

He’d tried, at least.

The trees welcomed them, open-branched with leaves slowly moving in a light breeze. Castiel breathed in deeply, letting the smell of rich earth and sap and flowers ease the tightness in his chest just an inch. On either side of the path, among the ferns, he saw teasel and harebells growing. The summer had been a kind one, and the blossoms were still open and bright.

“So,” Lisa said, when they were far enough from the car that it was no longer visible between the trees. “Is this a famous place to walk in Mariport?”

“We’re just outside the city,” Charlie said, before Dean could answer. “And it’s not that well-known, actually.”

“Ah, I see. That surprises me. It’s lovely here.”

“You haven’t seen the lake yet,” Charlie said. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing it. In Someria we have some reservoirs, but not many natural lakes.”

“The rivers, though,” Charlie said.

“Yes,” Lisa agreed. “The rivers are good.”

The conversation flowed so naturally between them that Castiel could tell they really had got to know each other well – the polite lilt of Lisa’s voice was relaxing, and she sounded more at ease.

“But, yeah, the lake here is great,” Charlie said. “I never knew about it until I started working for the royal family.”

“Really? It’s a well-kept secret, then,” Lisa said.

“Used to come fishing here sometimes,” Dean said.

“Oh, really?” Lisa asked.

“Yeah.” Dean left it at a single word, and the conversation stopped awkwardly. Lisa was friendly and charming and anyone else might have opened up for her, thought Castiel, but Dean was more of a giant clam than an oyster when it came to prising him open against his wishes.

They continued through the trees, and as they went Lisa and Charlie seemed to fall naturally into further conversation, dropping back behind Dean and Castiel as they all walked along the quiet path.

“You good?” Dean asked Castiel, eventually.

Castiel wasn’t sure how to answer, so he just said,

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Are you,” Castiel said.

Dean glanced at him, and it was answer enough. He looked tired, and angry. Castiel felt his chest burn at the sight of it. He wanted to be able to do what they’d always done when Dean was angry and tired of being a Prince: run away, make their own rules for the rest of the day, and not come back until Dean’s shoulders had eased and his eyes weren’t dull with resignation. He wanted that taste of freedom again, for the both of them.

“Remember when we went to that party in Amsterdam?” he said aloud.

“The one with the cakes?” Dean said, and Castiel nodded. Dean’s expression lifted just a little. “I swear to god, they did put something in them.”

“We asked, though,” Castiel said. “We asked and they said they were just rhubarb and rose…”

“Dude, we sat on that balcony and laughed for, like, three hours at the stupidest crap. D’you remember,” Dean said, and now he was actually smiling, “I almost fell over the railing thing, because you said the word ‘peanut’ –”

“And when you told me you’d learned to do a handstand…”

Dean stuck out two fingers on his right hand like legs, and stood them on the palm of his left hand.

“That’s because I did,” he said. “Handstand.” And when he saw that Castiel was trying not to laugh, he began walking his right hand up and down. “Yeah. Look at that. I learned that.”

“See,” Castiel said, “somehow I still find that amusing. The cakes really weren’t spiked. We didn’t need them to be.”

“Speak for yourself. There’s no way I’d lose it over the word ‘peanut’ without something in me.”

“Peanut,” Castiel said in his lowest, gravest voice, and Dean snorted.

“No,” he said immediately, “that doesn’t count, ‘cause it was like…”

“Mm?” Castiel said.

“Whatever. Stupid,” Dean said, but his tone was warm.

Castiel agreed. It was stupid.

And as much as he wanted to try to just be in the present moment, in the woods beside Dean, he couldn’t stop the feeling that rose up in him. He missed when they could just be stupid, and it felt like they always would be able to. Like they’d always find a corner at the fancy party of Dean’s life to laugh in. Or just talk without laughing, because they did that too. Or sometimes they’d just sit together and not say much at all, and Castiel would only sit and lose his mind just a little over Dean’s shoulder brushing his, or the way Dean’s jacket fit him, or the look in Dean’s eyes when they glanced at each other. Or, or, or. There had always been an or, another option, another time, another thing they could do or might do later.

There still were next times, Castiel thought. He’d promised to be Dean’s friend after the wedding. They could still spend time together, like they always had done. Still laugh and talk. No one could object to it, they weren’t doing anything wrong.

But when Castiel thought about trying to only be Dean’s platonic friend he realised how profoundly different from that everything between them always felt. It had grown up so naturally that he couldn’t remember it beginning, but somehow everything had become romance with Dean, silence and speaking and touches and almost-touches, all of it, all the time. Even though on paper they were doing nothing wrong, it was – there was a feeling behind it, there was a way they did it. All these years, Castiel had doubted that Dean felt it too. But now…

A nameless fear shifted to the front of Castiel’s mind and he wondered whether he could keep his promise, whether he really could be Dean’s friend after the wedding, with no romance at all. Not just whether he could bear it – which wasn’t certain – but whether he could even actually do it. Could he make each moment between them mean something new? Could he force every second they spent together to be unromantic when he didn’t even know how or why the romance was there in the first place – it just was? Trying to change it felt as though it would be like trying to breathe without it giving him oxygen. Like standing by a fire and trying not to get warm.

“Looking serious,” Dean said, and Castiel breathed out.

“I was thinking,” he said.

“It was either that or your breakfast wasn’t sitting well.”

“Maybe it’s both,” Castiel said.

“That’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. I try.”

Castiel turned to throw a look over his shoulder at Lisa and Charlie, to check that offence wasn’t being taken at the way they’d separated out into two little groups. Lisa, though, was talking animatedly, while Charlie listened. Against his will, Castiel felt his estimation of Lisa creep higher. It wasn’t every Duchess who’d happily spend long lengths of time talking to a PR Manager, while her husband-to-be ignored her completely.

Dean followed Castiel’s gaze over his shoulder for a second, and then turned back to face the front.

“She’s friendly,” Castiel said quietly.

“I know.” The hardness was back in Dean’s voice.

“You’ll…” Castiel swallowed. “It will be alright.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a long time. They walked along the path, familiar twists and turns passing unnoticed as Castiel lost himself in thought. He wanted to believe that Dean would be happy. He wanted, so badly, for Dean to be happy. The idea of Dean living out his life and not having those expressions on his face as much of the time as possible – the big smile when he was excited or the eye-creased laugh when he found something funny or the soft, happy look he had when he was content, and more, all of them – the idea of Dean living without those made Castiel want to break something.

All of it for a country that turned on Dean to mock him in the newspapers at the first sign of a scandal. Or for a mother who –

Castiel stopped himself. He could feel angry at Mary, but it felt like too much of a betrayal to put those feelings into words, and hate her that consciously and deliberately.

They neared the lake, and Dean said,

“Cas.”

Castiel looked over at him. Dean swallowed, and seemed to be grappling for words.

“You know that I…”

He broke off. As the two of them walked together, Castiel watched Dean’s face creasing as he tried to find the thing he wanted to say.

“We’re nearly there,” Castiel said, to give Dean a way out.

The tension left Dean’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Nearly.”

The two of them walked on in silence. When they rounded a bend in the path and found themselves looking at the lake – a wide, clear blue expanse of water hugged by grassy banks – they stopped, and waited for Charlie and Lisa.

“Oh,” Lisa said, breathing out as she took in the sight. Dragonflies were humming over the water, just flashes of glitter across the shining surface, and water lilies sat like perfect sweet desserts on the flat round green plates of their leaves. The lake was a giant’s handful of earth scooped out of the forest, with trees ringing it on every side. “It’s beautiful.”

“I knew you’d love it,” Charlie said warmly. “Hey, come on, let’s go set up a place to eat.”

She stepped forward, and now it was Charlie and Lisa leading the way while Dean and Castiel fell a little behind. Lisa was so easy with Charlie, Castiel thought. Or perhaps she was just easier in general out here in the forest, with no watchful judging eyes on her every move. Either way, she was laughing and using her elbow to nudge Charlie as they walked and pointing out a little moorhen on the water with a softer, deeper, more genuine voice than Castiel had ever heard her use before.

“It’s so little!” Lisa said. “Oh, _look,_ it has chicks…”

Castiel watched Charlie grin at the rapturous look on Lisa’s face, before she slung her backpack off her shoulder and unzipped it.

“Who’s got the blanket?” she said.

“I think it’s me,” Lisa said. Dean and Castiel reached where they were standing, a spot on the grassy bank of the lake bathed in the gentle heat of the golden sun, and dropped their own backpacks to the ground. Fumbling with the zip on his own, Castiel found several sandwiches wrapped in clear plastic, a large box of fruit, and a big soft folded wad of material.

“I’ve got it,” Castiel said, retrieving the blanket and handing it to Charlie, who shook it out of its folds and up high before letting it fall flat to the ground. Lisa, who had crouched to look at the contents of her own bag, smiled mischievously.

“Ah,” she said. “Yes. Turns out, I have something way more important than the blanket.”

There was a gentle clink from her bag as she drew out a large champagne bottle in one hand, and some glasses wrapped in paper in the other.

“Hell yeah,” Charlie said, sitting down on a corner of the oversized blanket and holding out a hand for a glass – before a look of slight consternation crossed her face, and she pulled away just as Lisa reached out to give her a glass. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t, um. Your Highness, your Grace…”

She went to stand up, and Castiel saw the expression on Lisa’s face fall as Charlie reminded them all that etiquette and social standing still counted, even here – but then Dean gestured with one hand for Charlie to settle back down onto the blanket.

“We’re good,” he said.

It was terse, but it was enough. The window that had briefly opened back onto the outside world was gently closed again, and Lisa poured them out drinks as Castiel handed around sandwiches. Dean’s mood visibly improved on the discovery, in his own backpack, of perfectly baked and carefully wrapped slices of apple pie.

Castiel let the others talk as he ate his food and drank his champagne. The bubbles eased the frown on his face – or maybe that was just the sight of Dean chatting, sitting next to Castiel as he joked with Charlie and Lisa. Maybe it was just the hum of Dean’s voice, the rightness of the two of them being beside each other. Maybe it was being in this place, with the sun painting gold loops and purls in a wavy indelicate hand on the surface of the water.

After a little time, Charlie and Lisa got up to go and paddle in the lake, with Lisa gasping and grabbing onto Charlie’s arm when her toes first touched the cold water. Castiel and Dean sat together, quietly looking in the same direction. Castiel’s hand on the blanket was almost touching Dean’s, and that had happened accidentally, so he didn’t feel as though he had to move it.

For a second, he let himself imagine that the way things were right now could always be: just him and Dean, a married couple, come to visit a beautiful place with their friends.

He let himself ignore the fact that there was a wedding, and a set of lawyers in Las Vegas who still hadn’t emailed him back, and royal responsibilities, and vicious headlines in the newspapers. He let it just be what it was. The sound of the water moving as Charlie and Lisa splashed in it and laughed, the chirps and calls of the birds in the trees. The heat of the sun on the back of his neck. The whisper, the almost touch, the promise of a possible promise that was Dean being so close.

It would have been so easy just to turn his head, and press a kiss to Dean’s lips. It was all that was missing, closeness between them. And with Charlie and Lisa absorbed in their own world in the water, with no one watching, it felt as though it wouldn’t even be wrong. It would just be a touch between two people. Castiel had imagined what it would be like to kiss Dean so many times, but it had always felt out of reach, impossible.

Here, today, it felt as though it would be so simple. So good, _so_ good. A balm for the times they were living through together.

But Castiel thought of newspapers and the Queen and a country full of people, and he did not turn his head. He did not move. The morning sighed into afternoon and Dean and Lisa didn’t leave to go and fall in love, weren’t coy or sweet with each other so much as once – the four of them only talked and laughed, came together and then split back into twos. And throughout it, Castiel and Dean never touched – only sat together, as the moments slipped out from under them and away with the darkening of the sky.


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel woke up on the day before Dean and Lisa’s wedding, and picked up his phone, and checked his emails.

Still nothing from the lawyers.

He typed out a follow-up email that he hoped was phrased with enough polite urgency to get them to understand the seriousness of the situation without thinking he was just a rude asshole. If the annulment didn’t come through before the next day, what then? Would Dean be guilty of bigamy?

Castiel could lie to him and tell him it had come through. If he made sure to tell Dean that, in writing – over text, maybe – then maybe that would help Dean’s case, if it ever came to actual legal proceedings. Castiel himself might be in trouble for lying – did that count as perjury, or something similar?

Rolling over in bed, Castiel googled _bigamy United Corelia,_ and spent half an hour trying to understand the various complexities and loopholes of his country’s marriage laws. He felt sicker with each passing second. There was nothing more he could do with the lawyers, short of calling them up and demanding they hurry things along – but surely that would only get him in their bad books, and might even make them deliberately slow down the case out of spite.

A little guilty part of him thought, _if the annulment doesn’t come through, I can just tell Dean that. And then the wedding to Lisa will have to be called off._

It was just a briefest flash of rebellion, like the shimmer of a dragonfly on the wing over water.

Castiel submerged it with a stern hand. No. He wasn’t going to think like that. The second he started trying to plan out a way to stop the wedding was the second he’d start getting his hopes up, and those hopes would only ever be disappointed. Even if he did manage to stop the wedding, Castiel could picture the look on Dean’s face: disbelief and horror that Castiel would do this to him.

If Castiel thought that stopping the wedding would definitely help Dean more than it would hurt him, he’d have done it. But he just didn’t know. Dean cared about his mother and his brother more than anything. More than himself and his own happiness, at least, without a doubt.

But maybe that meant Dean needed someone else to care about his happiness more than he did himself, so that he eventually could be happy, someday…

Castiel sat up, stretched, and got out of bed. He couldn’t lie around lost in thought. He knew he could talk himself into and out of stopping the wedding all day, and it wouldn’t do any good. The plain fact of it was that he was going to end up sitting in the Mariport Cathedral tomorrow and watching Dean marry Lisa, because that was what Dean wanted. Or what he’d decided, at least.

He wondered if he’d need his invitation to get into the cathedral. It was buried under a pile of paperwork, in his study at home. It felt as though it had been years since he’d been in his own apartment. He needed to go there today, to pick up his suit and check on his plants.

Showering quickly and then throwing on some clothes, Castiel left his room and went down the hall to Dean’s door. He tapped on it, the knock that he always did, and heard Dean say,

“Come in.”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, pushing the door open. Inside Dean’s room, he saw Dean not dressed yet, wearing a luxurious bathrobe and sitting on his bed, legs stretched out, frowning at his phone.

“Mornin’.”

Castiel took a moment to try to read Dean’s mood. If he had to guess, he’d have gone with intense denial – not because there was any particular evidence for it yet, but just because it was usually a solid assumption with Dean.

“I’m going home today,” Castiel said, and when Dean looked up from his phone with a slightly indignant expression, he held up his hand palm-down to stifle the protest. “Just to pick up my suit, and my invitation for tomorrow.”

Dean’s eyes slid away, and he went back to his phone without saying anything.

Denial confirmed, Castiel thought.

“You need to be back before six,” Dean said. “There’s a thing happening. All the guys are gonna be there.”

“Everyone from the bachelor party?” Castiel asked, suppressing a groan. Dean looked back up at him, not needing an audible groan to sense Castiel’s objection.

“Yeah,” he said, “my friends.”

The tinge of truculence warned Castiel off trying to wriggle out of the commitment.

“Where are we going,” he said, trying to sound neutral.

“The bathhouse.”

Castiel closed his eyes for half a second. The idea of spending the evening before the worst day of his life in the company of a group of guys who mostly didn’t want to give him the time of day, while they were all naked and sweating in a steam room, was probably one of the least appealing things he’d ever heard.

“That okay?” Dean asked, going back to his phone.

He could put up a fight, insist on not going. But what else was he going to do? Mope in his own apartment? Mope here in the palace? Wander around the city, and mope? At least – Castiel looked down at the floor to control a sudden rush of feelings. At least this way, he got to spend the last night before Dean’s wedding with Dean. Make the most of the time they had left, when things still felt even a little bit possible – when they weren’t completely trapped and locked into their separate paths.

“Yes,” Castiel said, a beat too late. “I’ll see you later.”

“Tell the kids at Crispin’s I said hi.”

Of course Dean knew that Castiel had been planning to drop by the orphanage on his way back to his own apartment. Because Dean knew Castiel.

“I’ll tell them,” Castiel said.

“I’m fine,” Castiel said. Across the table from him, Jody and Donna traded a glance.

“Okay,” Jody said, “and how are you, really.”

“Really,” Castiel said, “I’m fine.”

“Castiel…” Donna reached across the table. The kids of Saint Crispin’s were in and out of the kitchen, moving around them, the place as busy as always. Castiel was nursing a cup of tea and sitting opposite a pair of worried expressions, Donna’s eyebrows drawn low and Jody’s mouth tight.

“I’m fine,” Castiel insisted again, though he let Donna put her hand over his own.

“Claire’s been talking about setting fire to the cathedral,” Jody said. Patience, who had been grabbing herself something out of the fridge, rolled her eyes at Castiel as she walked out of the door.

“Oh,” Castiel decided to say, because he couldn’t in good conscience come down too hard on an idea he’d had himself at least once in the last twenty-four hours.

“I’d help her,” Jody said, “if I thought it would do you any good.”

Castiel managed a small smile, looking down at his steaming mug of tea.

“It’s alright,” he said.

Donna squeezed his hand.

“You don’t look happy,” she said.

“I’m just tired. We went for a walk yesterday.”

“Was that nice?”

“Yes. It was,” Castiel said, able to answer honestly. It really had been nice to get away from everything. All four of them had been so happy. Coming back to the palace had felt like waking up from a dream. In the car on the way back, Castiel had felt Dean move away from him, physically distancing them. The stony look had returned to his face. Castiel had felt the pit in his stomach open back up, wider than ever, as he realised that this was what the future was going to be. Distance, carefully and angrily maintained.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts by taking a sip of his tea, and looked up to find Donna watching him.

“You know,” she said, “we were never sure if we were doing the right thing. And now I’m less sure than I ever was.”

“Doing the right thing about what?” Castiel said.

“About Dean,” Jody said.

“When you two were getting close, as kids,” Donna said. “We didn’t know… whether to try to stop it. Or at least talk to you about what it meant to be a Prince, and how Dean might not always be able to do what he wanted to do.”

“You thought you could stop us being friends?” Castiel said, hearing the perplexion in his own voice. He saw Jody’s familiar little half-smirk creep onto her face.

“Not really,” Donna said, with a touch of wistfulness. “That was sort of the problem, though. You two were inseparable. But Dean being who he is… we knew it meant that one day, you probably would be separated. And we just didn’t want to know what happens when you have to separate the inseparable.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel said, the words out of his mouth too soon and too forceful, almost angry. “Nothing’s even really changing. We’re still going to be friends.”

Donna and Jody said nothing. Castiel looked down into his tea. It smelled sweet, like Donna’s tea always did – she put in an extra spoon of sugar every time.

“It’s fine,” Castiel said again.

“Castiel –”

“I have to go,” he said, standing up abruptly. “Thank you for the tea.”

He left the kitchen, making a break for the door at a pace that was a poor attempt at balancing haste with politeness. Just as he was about to leave, his brain registered something he’d walked past too quickly to properly take it in at first; he turned with his hand on the front door, and saw Claire sitting on the stairs, watching him.

“They just want you to be happy,” Claire said. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

Castiel swallowed. Out of his control, he felt anger swell inside his chest. Dean was about to marry someone who wasn’t Castiel, and the hurt from it wasn’t just limited to Castiel himself – it was disappointing and hurting the people he cared about, too, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. And now a fifteen year old had decided it was time to take the high ground, because apparently there had been a little room in his day for things to get worse.

Opening his mouth to retort, Castiel caught the expression on Claire’s face. There was the usual bland defensiveness, but there – in her eyes, Castiel could see it. She was upset.

He dropped his shoulders, and breathed out.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Claire shrugged. In the kitchen, Castiel could hear Donna and Jody cleaning up their ill-fated cups of tea. “Are you alright?” he asked Claire, watching her carefully.

“Fine,” Claire said. After a second, she added, “Can we burn down the palace?”

“Wh…” Castiel was halfway through a slightly indignant protest in his best responsible adult voice, when the sudden and surprisingly appealing image of the palace burning burst into his mind. Everyone inside would get out safely, of course, but that bastion of Corelian royalty would be crumbling, smouldering, collapsing under the appetite of fire…

It was worrying, he reflected, how much even the mental picture of it brought him some temporary relief from the twisting flurry of anger in his chest. It would be something to _do_ with the anger, at least. Something that would look as big and terrible and life-shattering as the way all of it felt.

Claire raised an eyebrow at him.

“We can’t,” Castiel said. “They’d catch us.”

“They’d catch you,” Claire said.

“There’s no chance you’d get away if I didn’t.”

“Please. They can _dream_ of catching me. I’m dust in the wind to them.”

“You’re a fifteen-year-old vandal.”

“Made of dust,” Claire said. “In the wind.”

She was being kinder than usual, joking with him rather than about him. Castiel could sense it, even though she was working hard to keep it locked down – her need for him to be normal, and calm, enjoying their jokes and arguments. He swallowed, and managed to pull on a smile.

“It’ll be okay,” Claire said.

“Do you really think so?” Castiel said, trying to keep the tiredness out of his voice.

“... No.”

Castiel nodded, looking down at the scuffed floor under his feet.

“But,” Claire said, “you can come hang out after it’s over.”

Castiel looked up at her. Somehow, for the first time, he remembered that there would be life after the day of Dean’s wedding to Lisa – not just life as in years and years watching Dean be married to someone else, but life as in day-to-day things. Going back to work in the library. Stopping round here at the home for tea. Trying to curb Claire’s latest violent ideas.

He didn’t know if it helped or it hurt. Time would pass with those little things. His life would go by, little by little. He’d carry on.

“You can come round,” Claire insisted. “Okay?”

Castiel managed another smile for her.

“Alright,” he said, and it came out a little rough around the emotions caught in his throat.

Castiel’s apartment door opened with the usual faint creak. He left the quiet warmth of the Mariport street behind, breathing in the scent of books. They lined the hallway, some on shelves and some piled in stacks beneath.

For a second, Castiel stood still and drank in the sensation of being alone – of no one knowing exactly where he was. The last short while had been a mess in so many ways. In the hush of his own space, he felt a part of him relax.

He walked through to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Everything was just as he’d left it, no milk left to go bad because he’d thought ahead before leaving and had two big bowls of cereal the night before the flight to Las Vegas, to finish it off. He hadn’t been expecting to stay at the palace, though, and his yoghurt was out of date. He took the pot and threw it into the bin.

When he turned back to the fridge, the door had swung closed. There, pinned to its bland white front by a magnet that said _Greetings from Mariport,_ was the Save the Date for Dean and Lisa’s wedding. Castiel went still, his hands curling into fists as he looked at it.

He’d texted Dean right after reading it. _Is it true? Are you really getting married?_

Dean hadn’t replied. Castiel had got his confirmation from the newspapers.

A month of silence later, Castiel had received his official invitation. It had been unpersonalised. Castiel didn’t know what he’d been expecting – it wasn’t as though Corelian weddings involved a lot of pageantry. There weren’t even bridesmaids or groomsmen, just a maid of honour and a best man, and of course Dean’s best man would be Sam. And it wasn’t as though Castiel could have stood to actually play a part in the wedding, anyway. Even still, the anonymity of the invitation had hurt him so badly that he’d stopped messaging Dean, stopped turning up to the Palace to try to catch him. He’d given up.

Now, here he was. Married to Dean, but still about to watch Dean get married tomorrow to someone else.

Quite suddenly, he was done.

He was done acting calm. He was done holding it all in. He was _done._ He took a hurried, unthinking step towards the fridge, grabbed the Save the Date, and tore it down the middle. It wasn’t enough. He ripped it again, tearing it into shreds that he dropped, and it still wasn’t enough. Curling his hand closed tightly, Castiel turned to the wall and smashed his fist into it, as hard as he could.

The wall was made of Corelian stone. It didn’t so much as dent under the impact. Castiel stood breathing heavily for a moment, his expression twisted with anger and surprise at himself, and then cupped one hand with the other. His fingers throbbed, immediately painful, the knuckles coming up red as he watched.

He swallowed hard.

Stupid. It was all stupid. All of it. And there was no way to get out, no clever solution, no last-minute escape. Just two people, trapped.

After a little time, he put some ice on his hand.

After more time, he started to gather his things for the wedding, and to go to the bathhouse. His fingers stiffened and purpled as he worked. The anger had drained out of him when he’d hit the wall, but pain fuelled its resurgence. Was he really going to trot along to the bachelors’ trip and then to the wedding, like a good little guest? Was he going to tuck his tail between his legs, and follow along, and act as though any of this was okay?

He’d promised Dean that they’d still be friends after the wedding. That was what had Castiel taking out his suit and looking for his cufflinks and tie pin. He’d promised. And if he started off by skipping the bathhouse trip – if he tried to begin by refusing to go to the wedding – then he’d never keep his word. He’d never be able to face Dean again, if he couldn’t face Dean now.

This anger inside Castiel, and his wounded pride, and his furiously battered dignity, and his sense of what was right… it all paled next to the idea of losing Dean forever.

For Dean, and only for Dean, he could do something that felt this wrong. For Dean, he could go to the stupid bathhouse, and he could go to the wedding.


	16. Chapter 16

Castiel sat in the back corner of the sauna, his eyes closed. A towel was slung around his waist. He breathed in the steam.

“– and then she said, _come back to bed,_ and I said,” Ash was saying in a loud voice, “I said, sweetheart, I haven’t got another round in me, and she said – get this – she said, _where do you think you’re gonna sleep, then, the kitchen floor_?”

There was general laughter from the other bachelors, which Castiel tried not to judge them for. It hadn’t been the funniest story in the world, but it was polite to laugh. Hopefully Castiel’s own rudeness had escaped notice. He took in another breath of the steam. It smelled like eucalyptus.

Sweat was running down his body in rivulets. He could feel his heart thudding against the heat. His nakedness was on his mind, and he was trying to keep his legs as closed as possible without looking so prim that the other bachelors would tease him.

The sauna was in the Scandinavian style, with wood panelling and wooden benches. Castiel cracked open his eyes to take a peek, and saw the other bachelors splayed out across the seats, most of them not bothering to cover up with a towel. Dean was close by, sitting in front of Castiel, and Castiel wasn’t looking at him.

He wasn’t noticing the shape of Dean’s shoulders. Or the way there was a drop of sweat moving slowly down the back of his neck.

Castiel clenched his eyes tight shut again, and dug his fingertips into his palm. The pain of his bruised fist eased the hot, pleasant sensation that began to course through him when he watched Dean for too long.

It had never happened with anyone else. Castiel had thought it was normal to only feel the sensation about one specific person, the person you cared for most, until other people talking and reading books and watching TV had helped him realise that most people could feel this way about a stranger they liked the look of.

For Castiel, it was one person. His body just didn’t react to anything when there wasn’t that deep connection. But when there was –

He took another deep breath, and let it go, and clenched his hand tighter.

“So,” said Ash, “anyway, Dean. Big day for you tomorrow, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, all casual ease. “Guess you could say that.”

“Even bigger night, though,” Ash said, and Castiel could hear the leer in his voice. He felt himself go cold, even in the steam of the sauna.

“Dude,” Dean said.

“Ah, c’mon. I know you got moves. What are you gonna give her?”

“Start simple,” said Garth’s voice.

“What? No. Show her what you’ve got,” Ash said.

“I had a friend who got his wife some nice lingerie just for the wedding night,” Gordon said. “You should do that, it’s not too late.”

Dean was saying nothing. Castiel tried to push away the image of Lisa wearing underwear picked out by Dean. Just the thought of it made him want to punch the wall so much he could feel himself start to shake.

If he left, would everyone notice? Did he care either way?

“Get some whipped cream,” Nick Munroe said.

“No way,” said Harry Spangler. “Honey. You want honey. Takes longer to lick off, she’ll like it…”

“And I’m out,” came Sam’s voice. Castiel’s eyes snapped open to see Sam getting to his feet, towel wrapped firmly around his waist, and heading for the door.

“Me too,” he said, the words spilling out before he could think twice about it. His vision seemed somehow smaller than usual, his chest tight. He managed to get down from his back corner, the low-voiced protests of the bachelors following him as he emerged into a cooler hallway flagged in pale stone. Sam was already gone, disappeared around a corner.

Castiel had never been to this bathhouse before, with its ridiculous price tag, and had no idea where to go to get out. He felt panicky, furious, lost. He chose left, and walked away from the sauna room; just as he rounded the corner, he thought he heard the door open again, and he moved faster. If that was a bachelor coming to try to drag him back, he’d commit assault before letting himself be taken back in there.

The corridor in front of him was long and empty. If he was being chased, his pursuer would easily see Castiel before he could reach the door at the end – but there were other doors all along the way, glass doors leading into other steam rooms. Castiel hurried forward and chose the nearest one, which led into a low-ceilinged, pleasantly dim room that was thick with peppermint steam. There was seating to one side, all seemingly made of some kind of whitish stone, like the walls and floor. Castiel pressed his back up against the wall next to the door, praying that whoever had come after him would just walk on past.

After a moment, the door swung open.

“Cas?” said the voice Castiel most and least wanted to hear.

Castiel tilted his head forwards just a little, so Dean could see him. Dean met his eyes, and then his shoulders dropped, and he came into the room with the door closing behind him.

“Hey,” Dean said. He had his towel on, wrapped round his hips. Castiel kept his eyes squarely on Dean’s face. The shaking of his hands was so bad that he had to clasp them together to hide it. “Uh. Sorry about that. They just… they don’t know anything.”

“They’re right,” Castiel said.

Dean made a face.

“What?”

“They’re right. Tomorrow’s your wedding night with Lisa.”

Dean turned away from him. Castiel was so angry he couldn’t speak, couldn’t say anything more. He found his treacherous eyes tracing the lines of Dean’s body.

“I…” Dean let out a short, sharp little huff of a laugh. “What kind of world is it where a guy feels like this about a night with a beautiful woman, huh?”

He said it jokingly, but when his gaze flicked back to Castiel’s face, his expression dropped. Castiel watched him, feeling Dean’s words needle at his anger. He held his temper in the same way he’d hold a white-hot and razor-sharp wire in his bare hand.

“You know I…” Dean started. “You know that if I had… I don’t even think I’m gonna be able to…”

Castiel wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the end of any of those sentences. He stared at Dean, his jaw clenched tight.

“What?” Dean said.

“Could you…” Castiel said, and then cut himself off, glancing away. The peppermint steam was corrosive and heavy in his lungs.

“Hey,” Dean said, coming back towards him. “Tell.”

Castiel looked up at him, and wondered if Dean could see it all on his face. The hurt, the sadness, the absolute trembling fury in him.

“You,” he managed, thick through his feelings. “Just try to imagine for one second that you weren’t the one getting married tomorrow.”

“... Okay,” Dean said. “But what am I supposed to –”

“Imagine you’re not the one about to have a wedding night with someone you find beautiful. Imagine you’re me instead.” It was all Castiel could get out. He wanted to say so much more. All of the words stuck in his throat.

“Wh–” Dean stared at him, looking at a loss, his hands looking big and awkward hanging down by his sides. “You… what? Cas, you don’t… I just said that ‘cause – I mean…” He laughed again, that same short dry laugh. “I mean, come on. You gotta know.”

_You gotta know._

There were those words again. Just hearing them in Dean’s voice threw Castiel back in time to that night, in Las Vegas – the way that Dean had leaned over the table to Castiel. _‘Course I’m serious. You gotta know._

“Cas –”

“Know what?” Castiel interrupted, and as soon as he asked, he knew the answer.

Memories flashed through his mind. Dean asking Castiel to marry him in Vegas; the way they’d looked in their wedding pictures; even before that, the months of silence after the announcement of the wedding – Castiel understood them, now.

Castiel did know. And Dean’s expression was caught somewhere between guilt and sheepishness and shyness – no shield up, nothing hidden, no blank face. He met Castiel’s eyes and he said,

“You know.”

After a moment of thought, ruefully, Castiel looked away.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“... Wasted time, mostly.”

Dean came a little closer. Just a step or so away, now, so that if he’d wanted to – no, if he’d let himself – Castiel could have reached out and traced the tips of his fingers over the sweat and condensed steam running down Dean’s bare chest.

“Before you were engaged,” Castiel said. “We could have at least…”

He swallowed hard.

“I didn’t know that you wanted to,” Dean said, his voice rough and low, clearly fighting embarrassment to try to speak.

“I didn’t want you to know. I thought you… I didn’t think you felt…” Castiel met Dean’s eyes. A single drop of water fell from a strand of Dean’s hair onto his forehead. Castiel’s hands were still shaking, with the need to keep still and the powerless rage of knowing he could have had everything he’d ever wanted if he’d only said something sooner. Maybe Dean would have argued with his mother and insisted on a different match if he’d known he wasn’t alone in the way he felt.

“It’s all screwed up, man,” Dean said.

“I know,” Castiel said. He saw the hopelessness on Dean’s face, and felt his own anger rage harder.

“Do you hate me?”

“No.” The answer came immediately, straight from Castiel’s chest.

“You should.”

“I couldn’t,” Castiel said, trying to keep his tone even enough that it wasn’t too much of a confession.

“You should’ve never married me,” Dean said.

Castiel went to answer, and felt the words catch in his throat. He couldn’t say them, could he? Couldn’t say what he thought, what he felt, it would be wrong. They’d been so good, up until now. Nothing had passed between them that was over the line. But he looked at Dean and felt his heart rebel, furious, and the words come spilling out.

“I could live to be a hundred,” he said, “and never regret marrying you. Not for one _second_.”

Dean drew in a breath.

His head tilted forward slightly. His eyes dropped, just for a fraction of a moment, from Castiel’s eyes to his lips, and then back up.

With his back to the wall and Dean in front of him, Castiel stood completely still and clenched his fists.

“Cas…” Dean said in a low voice. He moved in closer, just ever so slightly. Castiel could see the flush on his skin from the heat in the room.

“Dean, we – we can’t –”

“But –”

Dean moved another fraction of an inch closer. Castiel closed his eyes. His body was humming with a feeling that was familiar around Dean, but so much stronger than he’d ever felt it before – lines of heat running under his skin, thicker and tighter in the places where he wanted to be touched. The aching push to reach for Dean was overwhelming.

“You’re engaged,” he managed. “It’s wrong, Dean.”

“We’re married,” Dean said.

Castiel opened his eyes.

“We can’t,” he said.

“But you want…?”

“I want you.” Words he’d never been able to honestly say out loud to someone before. Out of his mouth before he could stop them. He saw Dean’s eyes go wide, saw Dean’s mouth fall just slightly open.

“Then –” Dean said, the single word husky, urgent. “Then – Cas –”

Castiel knew. It made no sense to him either. They were both here. They were alone. It would be as simple as Dean’s hand a little closer than it was. Dean’s lips on Castiel’s neck. Castiel’s lower back pushed forward off the wall, and –

“We can’t,” Castiel said again.

He ached. Inside, in his chest, of course. But also his skin – his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, everywhere. He wanted to be held. He wanted Dean’s hands on him, so much that it made him furious. He pressed harder into the wall behind him, just for the feeling of the friction.

Dean stared at him. Both of their breathing was a little fast, through just-open mouths. Neither of them moved.

Neither of them spoke.

Until Dean lowered his head just a little, and his eyes looked away.

Castiel put his head back against the wall, trying to let the tension drain. He wanted to pull Dean in for a hug, or just touch his shoulder, reach out in the way he usually did when he wanted to tell Dean they were there together – but any touch would be too much, and he kept his hands by his side.

Dean moved, turning and putting his back to the wall, leaning against it beside Castiel.

“If we do that once,” Castiel said, “we’ll do it again.”

“You say that like it’d be a bad thing,” Dean said.

“I can’t,” Castiel said. “Dean, I can’t.”

“You –”

“I’ve wanted it for so long,” Castiel said. “I always imagine… us…”

“Shit,” Dean said, shifting. “Don’t – if we’re not gonna, I mean – shit, Cas.”

“Sorry.” Castiel lifted his head off the wall, and then dropped it back again, a little jar against his senses. After a second, he said, “I can’t be something on the side for you.”

“I don’t want you to be,” Dean said.

“But that’s what you’re asking,” Castiel said.

“No, I –” Dean paused, and then looked down. “I don’t know.”

“You can’t have both,” Castiel said, trying to keep the sadness out of his voice.

“I don’t want both,” Dean said in a rush. “I don’t. I just want –”

He cut himself off.

And when he did, Castiel knew that the wedding would go ahead the next day. He knew that he would have to sit in the cathedral and watch a royal union. And he knew that he would have to go home alone the night afterwards and think of Dean with his new wife, surrounded by cream and honey, her skin graced with silk of Dean’s choice. Because Dean wanted Castiel, but he couldn’t quite say it. He couldn’t quite want it enough to speak it aloud and bring everything crashing down around them.

For the brush of Dean’s hand on his, Castiel thought he would have let the world burn. For less, perhaps.

But it was easy enough to think that, when he wasn’t the one with the choice. Easy enough to think that he’d let everyone he knew down, and lose his place in the world, and cause irreparable pain and harm to a lot of people, just so he could hold someone in the way that he wanted to.

But hard, impossible even, to be the person with that power. And Dean was going to have to make that choice. After tomorrow, every time he and Dean saw each other, Dean was going to think of what he’d had to do.

“Dean,” Castiel said, “I don’t know how we’re going to be friends.”

“We just are,” Dean said immediately, stolidly.

“I don’t know if we can,” Castiel said.

“We have to be. Jesus, Cas. Don’t make me lose you for this.”

“It’s not like that.” Castiel moved off the wall. He needed space. Every second was a battle and with Dean so close, his resolve not to touch wasn’t holding steady. “It’s not for me. It’s for you.”

“You promised,” Dean said.

“I know,” Castiel answered him. “But how are we supposed to just… see each other?”

“We have to,” Dean interrupted. “I can’t – not without you, Cas.”

They were silent for a short time, that turned moment by moment into a long time.

“It’ll hurt,” Castiel said.

“You think I don’t know?”

Castiel could hear the pain in Dean’s voice, and he understood. Dean couldn’t hurt his mother or his country over the way that he felt about Castiel, couldn’t tear it all apart – but Dean would take the pain until the end, just for the chance to see Castiel when he could. He was clawing for the damage, trying to take it all himself.

He wanted to hold Dean, but now just for the comfort, just to tell Dean wordlessly that he understood. That he felt Dean caring in the only way Dean knew how, trying to turn every injury toward himself.

“You should hate me,” Dean said again.

“I couldn’t,” Castiel answered him.


	17. Chapter 17

Castiel woke up on the day of Dean’s wedding in his room at the Palace, hurting before he even remembered why. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to punch something. But he found himself, instead, sitting up very still in his bed, frozen, staring at the wall.

Every breath felt like a mistake. Every breath, every passing second, took him closer to the time when Dean would be absolutely and definitely taken away from him forever.

In an effort to shift his stupor, Castiel reached for his phone. Wearily, he opened his emails – expecting to find nothing new, after so many times waiting for an update from the lawyers. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, and notice the new email in bold, unread letters at the top of his inbox.

Castiel sat up straighter, and stared down at it. It was from Milton and Milton. And the subject line simply read, _Annulment._

He couldn’t tap on it to open it, couldn’t read the confirmation. It was only as the hope died that Castiel realised how much of him had been seriously thinking that, as a last resort, perhaps he really could stand up in the cathedral and accuse Dean of bigamy to stop the wedding. Now, there wasn’t even that.

This was happening.

He got out of bed and into the shower, feeling like a robot that had been badly programmed. Every movement was clumsily mechanical.

He wasn’t married to Dean any more. They weren’t husbands. There was nothing binding them together but their own choice, and that was thin as frayed threads. So easy to tease apart, to snap.

Castiel’s hands shook as he dried himself off and brushed his teeth.

He wasn’t Dean’s husband. The wedding ring in the pocket of his coat meant nothing, now.

But still, when he’d finished dressing, Castiel found himself looking down at it in the palm of his hand. He hadn’t bothered to open his curtains, so it only glinted slightly in the bedroom’s dull light. He held the ring, watching it. He should leave it behind. There was no point to bringing it today. No point in keeping it close. If someone found it, it didn’t matter. The worst damage that it could do had already been done, and the royal wedding was still going ahead.

And there was no point in remembering what the ring represented, either. From today, that had to be put aside. Left behind. He had to move on.

It felt like telling a tree to lift its roots and walk. This was where it had grown, where it belonged. There would be no moving on.

Castiel put the ring in his pocket, and left his bedroom. It was time to face the day.

The Palace was a hive of activity. Corelian weddings usually had little fuss, but a royal wedding demanded a show, and when Castiel emerged into the main hall it felt as though he had to keep moving, or else someone would drape rich brocade material around him or tuck a tasteful couple of fresh flowers behind his ear. He dodged harried-looking kitchen staff carrying huge platters and tureens covered by silver lids, and hastily ducked under a tablecloth that was being shaken out at head height between two well-dressed Palace workers.

He walked towards the main palace doors, wondering if there would be press outside, or any kind of official morning event happening. It was all dizzy and dreamlike, and he was realising belatedly that he probably should have figured out what time things were happening and where he was supposed to be. His stomach was tying itself in knots, his breathing a little too quick.

He followed the soft path of a carpet in Corelian blue that had been rolled out from the door to midway up the hall. At first, he did so without thinking – and then his brain connected the dots, and he stopped to look down at the carpet. It was clearly supposed to be the grand walkway for Dean and his new bride, returning from the cathedral to the Palace for their grand reception.

He looked around the hallway a little helplessly. The doors to the outside world were just a few steps away.

Maybe he should go and find Charlie, or Sam, or someone who could tell him what exactly he was supposed to be doing. No palace worker had come scurrying up to him to forbid him from slipping outside, so it didn’t seem like it would be completely the wrong thing to do – he probably wouldn’t walk right into the middle of a press event – but still, the last thing he needed today was to cause a scene and draw attention to himself. He was going to get through it by being the wallpaper, or the carpet underfoot. Not noticeable. Not talking. Just exactly where he had to be until it was over.

Where would Charlie or Sam be? Castiel glanced around the busy hallway, considering where to go look – and as he did so, he caught sight of a figure standing at the far end of the blue carpet.

Castiel’s mouth fell slightly open.

Dean. He was watching Castiel.

He was wearing his most princely finery, standing straight-backed and formal. He looked serious, the expression making the lines of his face hard and beautiful. Castiel watched as Dean began to walk towards him, taking measured steps. The palace workers doing their decorating dashed here and there between the two of them, while Castiel stood like a statue, and Dean approached him.

Heart in his throat, Castiel waited. Dean looked so handsome that Castiel wanted to break something. And when Dean reached him, it was almost unbearable.

Dean swallowed, and reached out, and adjusted Castiel’s tie.

Castiel let him. It was so nearly over. The touch of the backs of Dean’s fingers against his throat was an icecube dropped in the ocean, in the path of the Titanic.

“Hey,” Dean said.

“Hello,” Castiel managed.

Dean’s touch was still on Castiel’s skin. He was lingering. Castiel could feel his heartbeat pounding.

They looked into each other’s eyes. Something should be said, Castiel felt, but what and by whom he didn’t know. _Sorry. I wish things were different. I’m here. I’ll be here. You won’t be doing this alone. I wish you didn’t have to do it at all. I’m going to miss you. I hate this. I love –_

“Dean?”

Castiel jerked away at the sound of Mary’s voice. He turned to see her standing across the hall, just emerged from the corridor that led to the breakfast room. She looked elegant in a light yellow gown stitched with flowers and leaves, and a light gold tiara on top of her head that brought out the warmth in the colour of her hair. And on her face was an expression that Castiel didn’t recognise, despite how long he’d known her. There was some kind of conflict, a twisting of her features, though she didn’t look angry.

“Mom,” Dean said, and took a step away from Castiel.

Mary walked towards them. There was something definitely off-balance about her, though she moved with her usual grace – some uncertainty in her step. Her eyes moved from her eldest son to Castiel and back again.

When she reached them, Mary reached out a hand and put it on her eldest son’s cheek. Dean leaned into it, his gaze falling to the floor, a frown on his brow.

“Dean,” she said softly, and then half-glanced at Castiel, and pulled her hand away. “You… look perfect. Fit for a wedding. The jacket suits you very well.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I…” Mary was looking between them again. Castiel couldn’t fathom her expression. “Sam’s waiting for you in the courtyard. The car’s ready for you.”

Dean nodded.

“Can I…” he said, and looked over to Castiel. Castiel felt it too – the need to stretch out the time they had left together in any way they could, even if it was in the back of the car on the way to their own separate heartbreaks.

“It’s just for you and Sam,” Mary said. “Castiel will be there for the ceremony.”

This time, Dean nodded just once. Sharply. When he glanced again at Castiel, there was a look in his eyes that Castiel understood as easily as breathing. Barely-concealed desperation. There was a sensation that they needed to be alone – that they needed to mark this moment, spend time, try to do it right. But all Castiel could think of that they might do, alone, would be stand in silence – wanting to touch each other but not being able to, wanting to run but being held in place. They might as well part now, in front of Mary. Maybe it was easier.

“I, uh…” Dean said. “Yeah. Okay.”

Castiel swallowed.

“Goodbye,” he said.

Dean’s jaw clenched.

“See you later,” he said gruffly. Like it was nothing. Castiel almost smiled, despite everything. It was so very Dean.

Dean turned, and walked away across the bustling hall. Castiel expected Mary to move off immediately – she always had somewhere to be or something to do – but instead, she simply stood by his side for a long, quiet moment.

Eventually, she turned to look at him.

“It was you,” she said softly.

Castiel felt his breath catch, but he tried to maintain composure. He looked straight ahead, and said nothing, watching Dean leave.

“He meant it to be you, didn’t he. When he asked me to choose someone he’d known when he was young as his partner.”

There was no answer that Castiel knew how to give. Mary’s tone wasn’t making her words into a question; she knew. Finally, she’d realised.

“Castiel,” she said.

Castiel looked at her. He didn’t know what to say. And silence seemed to be enough, because that conflicted look on her face only twisted tighter, and she shook her head.

“I never thought,” she said. “I never… you’ve been friends for so long. I knew you were close, but I…” She breathed out. “I’ve spent too long thinking about Corelia and not enough time thinking about my son.”

Again, Castiel said nothing. He could only agree with her. And it was too late for this realisation to matter.

“Why is he going ahead with it? Why didn’t he tell me? He was looking at you like the world was ending and he’s never even said a word to me.”

She sounded bewildered, genuinely confused. Castiel, who had been living for months in the web she’d just flown into, gave her a wry look.

“Dean not talking,” Castiel said, finding his voice, “probably shouldn’t surprise us at this point.”

Mary acknowledged it with a flick of her eyebrows, but the troubled look on her face didn’t ease. Castiel could see her battling with her own memory, searching out all the times when she should have noticed something.

Castiel looked at her, the crown shining on her head. The weight it set on her, Castiel thought. The pain it must cause her. And how much heavier, how much more painful, now that she’d realised at last there was a part of her son’s life she’d never noticed.

“Why, Castiel,” Mary said. She was dry-eyed, but Castiel could hear the hurt in her question.

“He just wants to make you proud,” Castiel said quietly. “He wants to save you pain. He’d do anything for that.”

Around them, the palace workers arranged flowers and carried dishes and smoothed tablecloths and hurried to and fro.

“That’s why he’s doing it?” Mary stared at him, the confusion on her face shifting to something deeper and sadder. “That’s the only reason?”

Castiel swallowed. He didn’t know how much more he should say – and maybe he’d already said too much. Dean would hate to think of Mary’s face looking like this. The whole point was supposed to be that Mary and Sam never felt any hurt. There was something surreal about seeing Mary in front of him knowing what there was between him and Dean. Castiel felt a little outside himself, watching the way her eyes dropped to the ground, her mind visibly racing.

“Royal weddings are often matches of convenience, not love,” Mary said. “I myself…” She bit back the end of the sentence. “But I… I wasn’t… at least I didn’t want someone else, when I married John.”

“Your Majesty…” said a palace worker, approaching them at a respectful pace. Mary jerked, as though she’d forgotten where they were standing.

“One moment,” she said, waving the worker aside. Castiel watched them retreat a few paces but hover, watching the Queen, obviously having something important to say.

“It’s too late,” Mary said distantly.

Castiel looked back to her, and Mary met his eyes.

“It’s too late,” she said again. “If we call everything off now, it’ll – the damage it’ll do – the slight to Someria, the…” She trailed off. “We’d lose the crown.”

Saying nothing, Castiel watched her.

“It’s too late,” Mary said, and her tone was bleak. She looked to Castiel. “I’m sorry,” she said. “If I’d known…”

Would she have ever let the match happen, Castiel wondered, as her sentence was left hanging. Even if she’d known the way that he and Dean felt about each other, would she still have prioritised Corelia over the two of them and their happiness?

“I’m sorry,” Mary said one more time, and then turned away to face the palace worker waiting for her. “What is it,” she said, as she stepped away.

“Your car is here,” Castiel heard the reply. “I have told the driver that the ceremony isn’t for another hour, but he’s saying that there’s some traffic on the way to the cathedral and it would be best if you left sooner rather than later.”

An hour. Castiel had an hour to get to the cathedral. Part of him wanted, even now, just to run – to skip the ceremony, maybe even leave the city. Go somewhere completely different. Maybe get on a flight, even.

If he left, would he ever come back? Castiel wasn’t sure. But it was beside the point, because Castiel knew he wasn’t leaving. Nothing that happened at the ceremony could hurt as much as the idea of Dean looking around for Castiel, and finding him gone.

They would do this together, even if it meant they would end it alone.


	18. Chapter 18

The cathedral of United Corelia wasn’t so large as its grand name suggested. Its warm, sand-coloured walls housed intricate murals and stained-glass windows that speckled the gathered congregation with gentle rainbow lights; flowers in firework sprays adorned the ends of each row of seats. At the end of the central aisle was a simple table with a pale cloth covering it, on which sat a grander bouquet of Corelian blue blossoms.

Castiel walked in, guided by the pointing hands of the ushers. He walked up the aisle, his vision focusing here and there on little details, the picture in front of him feeling fractured and strange. Here, a sparkling diamond pin. There, a young child of the Corelian nobility sitting perfectly still and looking around politely. Overlarge flowers on a rippling silk dress. The pleasant tap-tap of manicured nails on a phone screen, taking a video as Castiel passed.

He slid into his row, muttering apologies on autopilot and wondering if anything he was saying sounded remotely like English. The world seemed to have shrunk, somehow, so that he could just see what was right in front of him, and he took his seat with his heart thudding in his throat.

Statuesque, he sat perfectly still and completely silent as other guests found their places all around him, and talked past him about the cathedral decorations and the promised splendour of the reception banquet. Castiel, as a close friend of the family, had been given a seat close to the front of the cathedral, with only one row between him and the seats at the front where Mary was already sat. He watched the back of her head while, on either side of him, conversations fluttered and fussed.

Mary, too, was unmoving. Castiel wondered what she was thinking. Was she going over and over the look on Dean’s face when he’d had to leave Castiel? It was all Castiel could think about. Could he really let Dean go through with this? Couldn’t he just – just stop it all –

It felt so possible, and so out of reach.

The conversations in the room fell into clustered mutterings, and then sighs of appreciation, as Dean stepped out of a side-room and into the main room of the cathedral. Behind him walked his brother. The two of them made a steady, solemn progress to stand front and centre. How obvious was it to everyone else in the room that Dean was in distress, Castiel wondered. How keenly did they feel the need to stand up and shout that it should stop, it should all just stop?

No one stood up. No one shouted. Dean stood resplendent, blank-faced, unmoving.

The officiant stepped out of the same side-chamber that Dean had emerged from, her thick dark curly hair forming a graceful halo around her serious face. Missouri Mosely; Castiel recognised her from the times she’d scolded him and Dean at the royal parties they’d attended together. She was wearing a simple dark gown with stitching at the hems, a book in her hands that Castiel knew held the words she’d read to marry Dean to Lisa.

Castiel tried to swallow, and thought that perhaps he had forgotten how.

On either side of him, other guests were shuffling in anticipation. To Castiel’s immediate left, he could see the bony knees of Garth. Had Garth tried to talk to him? If he had, Castiel hadn’t even noticed. Dean was facing the front, his shoulders stiff. The urge to stand up and run to him and pull him away from it all was so strong that Castiel clenched his fists, hard, to stop himself from moving.

The first strains of organ music sounded. Castiel winced, and followed everyone else’s lead in getting to his feet.

Lisa was here. Dean’s bride, she was here. It was happening. Here he was, in the moment he’d dreaded for so long.

Heads swivelled to catch a glimpse of Lisa as she made her progress. There were soft sighs of appreciation, and Castiel thought by the sounds of them that Lisa had to look beautiful. Garth murmured something. On Castiel’s other side, he heard Gordon mutter something in response.

Castiel couldn’t bring himself to turn around. He was shaking again.

He glanced over to one side, and saw Charlie standing unobtrusively between two pillars, gazing at the bride as she walked.

There was something in Charlie’s expression that made Castiel think she, too, understood that this wasn’t a happy day for everyone. It was hard to tell with her standing a little back from the congregation, in the gloom, but he thought she looked sad. She was standing too rigidly to be natural.

Castiel looked to Dean, knowing that this was when it was supposed to happen: this was when the groom turned, and saw his bride-to-be, and smiled at her or cried or visibly realised how lucky he was. Watching Dean, Castiel waited for the moment to come – but Dean stayed resolutely facing forwards. Sam, beside him, had his hands in fists.

Lisa passed the row where Castiel was sitting, and he couldn’t avoid looking at her any longer. She looked like a dream, a gauzy veil draped over a traditional Corelian wedding dress with flowers sewn across the shoulders and scattered up the skirts. Castiel wondered whether the people sitting around him could hear how loudly his heart was pounding. When the bride came to a stop at the front of the cathedral, Dean still hadn’t looked at her.

There was a moment of stillness as Lisa halted, and then the congregation seemed to breathe out, and settle in. The bride and groom were both here. The wedding was going to happen exactly as planned. For everyone else in the cathedral, it was a relief.

“Welcome,” said Missouri. “Honoured guests, it’s my pleasure to welcome you all today. Please be seated.”

In a little polite, decorative flurry, the congregation took their seats once more. Missouri looked from Dean to Lisa, and then out to look at faces in the crowd in front of her. She was rock-steady, calm, her voice sweet and thoughtful.

“We’ve gathered to celebrate the union of Crown Prince Dean from the House of Winchester, Heir to the throne of United Corelia, and Duchess Lisa of Someria.”

Missouri paused for a moment, and then smiled slightly.

“Two very grand names,” she said. “This is a historic occasion. But let’s not forget, it’s also the union of these two people who stand in front of me. Before us all, they will pledge the rest of their lives to each other – a promise to love each other, and support each other, and be the rock in each other’s storms. This is a royal wedding, but it’s also the beginning of a marriage that will be like any other – full of small happinesses and strifes, that the two of them will face together, with love to sustain them.”

Mary shifted, two rows ahead of Castiel. Her head jerked just a fraction of an inch, but the simple movement told Castiel how uncomfortable she was.

Castiel’s chest was aching. He thought he might throw up.

“First,” said the officiant, “let’s get the formalities out of the way.” She smiled, a touch apologetically. “If anyone here knows of any reason why these two people should not be married, I ask you to speak now.”

The last second had come – and too soon. Castiel had somehow been expecting more lead-up, more time, more moments to be able to make his final choice and know for certain whether he was going to try to stop the whole thing or whether he was going to let it happen – but now, quite suddenly, here he was. The silence was ringing in the cathedral. The guests were still, poised, caught in the instant of tension that the question brought. Castiel had his eyes on the back of Dean’s head.

Could he let this happen? Could he allow Dean to live miserably, just because it was Dean’s choice to do so? Could he break everything apart so that the two of them could have a chance of happiness? And could he choose to do so in the half of a half of a second that remained, before Missouri moved along with the ceremony?

Missouri’s head turned slightly, her gaze sweeping the room, before she looked back to her book to read the next words.

Castiel took in a breath, and opened his mouth.

Ahead of him, he saw Mary half-start to her feet.

And then, up at the front, Dean’s shoulders relaxed. Audibly in the silent space, he let out a breath. And he turned around, and his eyes locked with Castiel’s.

“I can’t,” he said softly, to Castiel.

The reaction was instant. Guests drew in gasps, Conversations flared to life. Garth knocked into Castiel, and then Gordon put one hand on his shoulder. Mary was stock still in her seat, her attempt to stand aborted by Dean’s words.

Castiel kept his eyes on Dean’s. The rest of the crowd barely existed. There was only the thudding in Castiel’s ears, and the man standing across the room looking right at him. Right at him, and at no one else. His gaze was steady. All around them was chaos, but between the two of them, there was silence. Dean’s expression was wide-eyed, but not scared.

Castiel was about to get to his feet, when Lisa moved.

Beside Dean, Lisa pulled up her veil, and turned to look at her groom.

Castiel could see streaks on her cheeks. She’d been crying – and not just in the last couple of seconds, Castiel could tell by the way her eyeliner had smudged down her face. She’d been crying for a little while.

“So you know?” she said.

Dean broke his stare with Castiel and turned to look at her, his expression confused. Castiel, too, managed to find a square corner of emotion in his brain to devote to wondering what she was talking about. With Dean not looking at him, Castiel’s awareness of the rest of the room returned, just a little; Garth was whispering furiously with his other neighbour, while Missouri was standing with the book loose in her hands, looking nonplussed.

“Know?” Dean said.

Lisa closed her eyes, and two fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. The congregation was full of frantic hushed conversations, no one wanting to miss a word from the front.

“You’re sorry?” Dean asked blankly.

From where she’d been standing in the shadows, Charlie came forward.

Castiel expected her to reach for Dean, hustle him back off towards the side-room that he’d appeared from – give him some space to avoid a big scene. That was her job, to protect Dean from scenes just like this one. The sight of her stepping forward sent a little wave of relief through Castiel, thinking that Dean would at least be about to be steered out from under the watchful gazes of all these people – but then, instead, Charlie stopped.

She stopped beside Lisa.

“It’s not her fault,” Charlie said. “Dean, I swear, nothing happened between us. I know how it must look, but it’s in the past, and… and…”

Lisa’s head dropped, more tears visibly spilling down her cheeks. Castiel sat frozen as the volume of chatter in the cathedral pushed higher. Quite suddenly, Mary got to her feet. She stepped out from her seat, into the aisle, and turned to face the gathered crowd of socialites and nobility.

The hubbub died away.

Mary turned to the front, to look at Lisa and her son.

“What,” Mary said, “is the meaning of this?”

“Your Majesty,” Lisa said, stepping forward. Her voice was so strained, so wrecked, that it jerked Castiel a little out of his miasma of confusion and disbelief. This was happening. This was actually happening. Dean had stopped the wedding. And Lisa was standing and looking at the Queen with a guilty expression on her face, as though it were somehow her fault. “Your Majesty, I… I am aware of the great slight that this does to your House. I have no excuse. There is no justification for what I’ve done.”

“What have you done?” Mary demanded.

Lisa pressed her lips together, hard. Dean looked away from her, to Castiel. In his eyes, Castiel could see the same feeling that was burgeoning in his chest: hope.

After a moment, Lisa reached out a hand for Charlie. There was hesitation and fear on Charlie’s face, but Lisa kept her hand held out, and eventually Charlie took it.

“I fell in love,” Lisa said simply, looking at Charlie.

The congregation erupted, briefly, into uproar, before the Queen hushed them with a single raised finger.

“We should have this conversation in private,” Mary said. But now it was Dean who was stepping forward, his eyes on Lisa.

“Does this mean,” he said, “you don’t want to get married to me either?”

“I – it’s not an insult,” Lisa said, sounding desperate. “It’s just that I… all those times Charlie came to see me in Someria, when you wouldn’t come… we just… I’m –”

She paused, and then frowned.

“What do you mean,” she said, “‘either’?”

Castiel watched as Dean’s expression broke into a smile. A true smile, with his eyes lit up, with his shoulders loose. He turned away from the crowd to look at his brother; Sam met his gaze with an expression on his face that burst past happiness into relief and outright joy. Castiel could feel his heart in his throat. Gordon’s hand was still on his arm, squeezing slightly, and Castiel thought that maybe he was being asked whispered questions – but he didn’t care. Dean had stopped the wedding. Dean looked _happy._

Dean turned, and looked to his mother.

Castiel could only see the back of her, as she stood facing the ungraceful knot of people at the front of the cathedral. He could only guess at her expression. Dean was watching her, a look on his face that asked a question. Not _can I,_ Castiel thought, but _should I._

Mary was rigid in the centre of the aisle, her dress fanning out from her hips in a perfect silhouette, her crown glittering. The congregation’s mutterings grew louder as Lisa looked away from Dean towards Charlie and squeezed her hand tighter. Dean was completely still, watching Mary.

The Queen didn’t move for a moment longer – and then she stepped aside, just a pace, and made space for Dean to pass her and walk the wrong way down the aisle.

Castiel couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. His brain was a hum of static, his chest uncertain over whether to keep hurting, his stomach twisting. Dean moved past his mother, leaving Lisa and Charlie and Missouri behind. Now, Dean had his eyes on Castiel. And Castiel, stuck in the middle of a row of other guests, finally got to his feet.

He swayed just slightly. None of it felt real enough to ground him. He kept doubting over and over again. Had he fallen into a dream?

Dean came to a halt at the end of Castiel’s row.

“Cas,” he said.

Castiel tried to remember to breathe. He began to awkwardly make his way out past the guests that sat between himself and Dean – Garth, Ash, other familiar faces from the Palace, all looking up at him with expressions that ranged from incredulity to complete bafflement. Castiel heard Ash say,

“I _knew_ they weren’t watching a movie.”

With care, Castiel walked past them. He made sure not to tread on any of their belongings, or the hems of their fine dresses, or the tips of their expensive shoes as he stepped through. Out of the crowd, and into the aisle, beside Dean.

Dean was waiting for him. His hands hanging by his sides, his expression enough to devastate Castiel with its happiness. The emotions hit like a gut-punch. Castiel tried to push back the tears that threatened, to swallow away the sudden lump in his throat.

“Hey,” Dean said.

The rest of the room was so quiet around them. Castiel couldn’t look away from Dean, but he could sense their eyes on him, waiting for what he was going to do. Their gaze was familiarly judgemental, the same raised eyebrows and sideways glances that had followed him at every royal party he’d ever attended.

“Hello,” Castiel said to Dean.

Dean’s eyes flickered over Castiel’s face, taking in what Castiel knew had to be his visible uncertainty. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. In a movie, Dean would be on one knee now, or sweeping him into a kiss while the music swelled, but – but they’d never even kissed before, and Castiel didn’t want to for the first time in front of everyone, he wanted it quiet and perfect and just them, and – and was Dean really doing this? Was this really happening? Could Castiel really be thinking about kissing Dean as a practicality instead of a fantasy? Castiel’s heart was beating too fast. The room around him was blurry, with Dean a single point of clarity.

Dean’s expression shifted. His smile crooked into something just a little more mischievous.

He lifted one eyebrow.

Castiel felt the weight on his shoulders fall away. Very slightly, he gave the tiniest of nods.

In his head, he counted _three, two, one…_

And together, they made a break for it. Just like at the boring royal parties, and like the times when they’d been stuck in detention together at school, and like each time Mary had sent them to take etiquette lessons, and like the night in Las Vegas when they’d broken off from the group to get married, and on and on – like they had done a hundred times before, they ran. Out of the vast cathedral hall and away, with the cries and protests of the congregation ringing emptily after them.


	19. Chapter 19

They fled. In the empty vestibule outside the main hall, Dean seized Castiel’s hand and dragged him away from the main doors out of the cathedral building.

“Press,” he said. “C’mon, let’s… there’s another way out…”

Castiel followed the tug on his hand, Dean’s palm warm, his fingers gripping tight. It was happening so headily fast – one moment they’d been in the cathedral with every eye on them, and then quite suddenly they were outside in a small alley to the side of the cathedral where the garbage was apparently put out, big black sacks stacked in green bins. For a second, they paused, and Castiel stared at the garbage, and the dirty alley floor, and at Dean, and he felt a laugh rising. A half-disbelieving laugh with his pulse pounding and his breath a little short.

Dean was looking at Castiel as though he wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. And that didn’t matter, Castiel thought dizzily. That was alright. Because now there was time. They had more time.

“So, uh…” Dean said. He swiped his hand across his face, clearly trying to get ahold of himself. “Uh…”

“I thought that went well,” Castiel said, and the laugh built up higher, but he tried to hold it in. The garbage bags weren’t helping. Dean was in his princely garb, and they were at a royal wedding, and they were standing outside with the garbage. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Castiel thought, and felt the laugh push harder.

“Did I really do that?” Dean said, looking dazed.

“I think so,” Castiel said. “One or both of us might be dreaming.”

“I hope it’s you,” Dean said. “I don’t wanna have to wake up from this one.”

On the other side of the door they’d run through, there were the sounds of voices.

“Shit,” Dean said, and grabbed for Castiel’s hand again, and pulled him away down the alley.

Did they even have to run, Castiel wondered, at the same time as gut instinct threw him into matching Dean’s pace. Did they have to leave? What could anyone at the cathedral do to them? No one was going to force Dean to marry Lisa, not now the Queen had let Dean go. No one was going to punish them – what would they be punished for, under what law? And yet Castiel knew that there was nothing either of them needed to do more than to get away, to fling themselves around corners and down sunlit streets, drawing stares from passers-by and tourists as they ran and ran and ran. Together. Just the two of them.

The world was blooming around Castiel. The leaves on the trees they passed were emerald, the canals were ribbons of silk. Every face that watched them run by was beautiful. The city was a pair of hands out flat, letting them go running free across her palms, tracing her love-lines all the way from the cathedral to the place they’d always gone to when they were letting their feet carry them anywhere: Saint Crispin’s, Castiel’s home. Castiel’s breath was coming hard now. Dean’s hand was hot against his own, but he didn’t let go. He didn’t _have_ to let go.

They ran together, all the way to the porch steps of the orphanage. They tucked themselves under the small portico, and leaned against the front door and each other, and breathed.

“We did it,” Dean said, through little gasps.

Castiel thought he might burst. He breathed, and nodded.

Softer, more to himself, Dean said,

“I did it.”

His breaths still quick, Castiel turned to look at Dean, and he swallowed and said,

“You did it.”

Dean looked at him. His expression was bright and hard and confused and hopeful, all thrown together. For a moment, they simply took each other in, in this new reality – all the possibilities it felt like they had. And then quite suddenly, the happiness in Castiel – the bursting in his chest, the painfully pleasant joy – demanded action, movement.

There was no thought, no pause, no worry. He stood up. Dean turned to face him fully, his gaze dipping to Castiel’s lips. They reached with hands first, holding onto each other, pulling each other in – insisting on each other, on closeness, on nothing less. Their tightened grips said, _you. You. It’s got to be you._

Castiel kissed Dean, and the beautiful world went quiet.

It was the moment when the airplane rises above the cloud and the sunlight shines, silent. It was the hush and breath of turning the page at the best moment of a favourite book. It was a weight lifted – no, a weight vanished, lost, gone from Castiel’s chest, traded in for lightness, traded in for touch, traded in for the press of Dean’s lips against his own.

Castiel tilted his head, wanting more, more, more. Dean’s hand was on his cheek. Dean’s short hair at the back of his neck felt soft. More. More. Dean kissed like a caged bird discovering the sky. And –

The door to Saint Crispin’s opened sharply, and slammed back into the wall behind it. Castiel and Dean broke apart, breathing audibly, to see Claire standing in the doorway, watching them.

Her gaze flicked from Castiel, to Dean. Her eyes narrowed.

“Uh,” Dean said, “... hey?”

Castiel glanced at him. Dean was obviously trying not to smile all over his face, and was completely failing. He looked over at Castiel, and said quietly,

“Awesome.”

Castiel realised that he was smiling, too. He had to agree with the sentiment. _Awesome._

Claire was still watching them narrowly. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and then said,

“Gross.”

Dean met Castiel’s eyes. The seal of approval was in Claire’s almost-smile, in the way she folded her arms. Dean shrugged.

“Well,” he said, “I don’t see what’s gross. It’s just me and my husband.”

Castiel’s heart squeezed – he saw Claire’s eyes go wide, and immediately held up his hand.

“What _happened_ at the cathedral –” she started, but Castiel interrupted her.

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing. And we’re not… we’re not actually married anymore.”

“We’re not?” Dean asked. Castiel reached into the inside pocket of his jacket for his phone, swiping across the screen, finding his email. A wave of disbelief rose up in him. It was the day of the wedding, and he was standing outside Saint Crispin’s looking through his email. His eyes were reading the same words that he’d read just this morning, when Dean had still been going to marry Lisa.

And now Castiel had kissed him.

 _Milton and Milton,_ the sender of the email. _Annulment,_ read the subject line. Castiel tapped on it and turned his phone around to Dean, trying not to look too upset. It was alright, wasn’t it, that the annulment had gone through? In a way, it was probably better. It meant that they would have lots of – lots of space, a no-pressure way to test-drive their relationship. It was a good, practical thing.

Good, Castiel reminded himself, as Dean squinted at the email. Practical.

“Dear Mr Novak, we are writing to inform you of some issues with your submitted paperwork,” Dean read from Castiel’s phone.

“What?”

“Specifically,” Dean read on, “several signatures were missing, you each misspelled your own names at least twice, one of you failed to tick the box on page 13 allowing us permission to proceed on your behalf with the annulment, and the other filled in his birth date as 1995 BC. As you can imagine, we are unable to take meaningful action based on these documents, and should you wish for the annulment to go through, we ask that you resend all pages –”

 _“What?”_ Castiel said. He whipped the phone around. “Are you just making this up, or –”

But the words were there on Castiel’s phone, in black and white. Desultory, ordinary. Except for the fact that it meant…

“Claire?” Castiel heard Jody’s voice from inside Saint Crispin’s, and couldn’t even turn to look at her. Jody’s footsteps approached. “Castiel? Dean? What are you…”

“We’re still married,” Castiel said, staring down at his phone.

“What?” Jody demanded.

“We’re still married,” Dean echoed. Castiel looked up at him, and he could feel his own eyes shining. Practical be damned. This was what he wanted. He knew it. Better than he knew the shape of his own hands, he knew the shape of his feelings for Dean.

“Is that… alright with you?” Castiel asked.

“I… uh. I mean, yeah, but…” Dean put his hand behind his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

And Castiel felt his own heart sink, just a little.

It was okay, he told himself. Dean maybe hadn’t had so much time to get used to what was between them. Dean wanted more space, more opportunity to get out if it didn’t seem to be working. That was understandable. They’d only just had their first kiss.

“Castiel?” This time, it was Donna’s voice from inside. Castiel spared her, Claire, and Jody a glance as she came to stand in the doorway, her expression confused, and only becoming more so when she caught sight of Dean. “What on Earth –”

“They’re still married,” Jody said.

"They were _married?"_

“But Dean doesn’t want to be,” Claire added.

“What?” Dean said roughly. “No, no, no. ‘S just…” He looked at Castiel, his cheeks reddening. “I just wanted to do it right. Do it again, I mean. But do it right. You know. With the… everything.”

Castiel stared at him, not understanding.

“The everything?”

“You know, the… I mean, I did such a crappy job the first time. I wanted to…” Dean swallowed visibly, and then his expression hardened. “Fuck it,” he said.

“Jody, Dean swore,” Castiel heard Claire say immediately, and he heard Jody take a breath in to speak, and then quite suddenly fall quiet – because there on the front porch of Saint Crispin’s in the early afternoon light, Dean was getting down on one knee.

He knelt in front of Castiel.

“Oh,” Castiel said. “Dean… what…”

“Just let me,” Dean said.

“Just let him,” Claire said.

Castiel could feel his heart thudding so hard he thought it was going to give out. He had no sensation in his body. Dean was kneeling in front of him. Dean was on one knee, in front of Castiel.

“Uh,” Dean said. He looked suddenly clumsy, awkward, as though he wasn’t sure what to do. Castiel looked down at him, and wondered what million-to-one chance he’d managed to win to be standing here. To have this life. To be looking at Dean Winchester in front of him, fumbling for words.

Castiel wanted to get down on the floor with him. Or perhaps he wanted to pull Dean up to his feet, kiss him again, hold him again, run away with him again.

With him. With him. With him. Castiel could be with him. Whatever Castiel did, it would be _with him._

“Cas,” Dean said gruffly. “I want to be married to you.” He swallowed hard, his eyes looking full. He opened his mouth, and then closed it and pressed his lips together and swallowed again, mastering himself before saying, “It’s only ever been you.”

Castiel heard little soft intakes of breath from the doorway. More than three. Other kids must have also come to have a look at what was happening, but Castiel only had eyes for Dean.

“Stay married to me,” Dean said. He asked it like a prayer, like a man asking for grace and mercy.

He was so beautiful. The world was so beautiful.

On the front porch of his home, in front of his family, Castiel looked down at the man he loved and he said,

_“Yes.”_


	20. Chapter 20

They stayed at Crispin’s all day, and longer still, late into the night. Claire put on music on the old stereo, the sound crackly and fuzzy, but good enough for them to dance to. Jody slow-danced her wife around the kitchen to the sound of George Michael. Todd ate so much of the food they ordered in that he was sick, and was incredibly proud of himself. Dean and Castiel sat together on a sofa in the living room while people filtered in and out.

Now and then, they got up to eat or dance or talk to someone else, but they came back to each other. All day, and then all night as the party showed no sign of slowing, they came back to each other. Around nine in the evening, the bachelors finally found where they were – they burst into the room, rowdy and loud, grabbing Dean’s arm and shaking him slightly as they crowed their disbelief and laughed at the obvious happiness on his face.

“I _knew_ it,” Ash said. “I _knew_ it wasn’t a movie they were watching in Vegas. I _knew…”_

“We _know,”_ Nick Munroe said. “You keep _saying…”_

Sam found them not long after, still in his best man’s suit. Castiel saw him come in and lock eyes with his brother across the room, and then take long strides to cover the distance between them, pulling Dean into a rough hug.

Castiel moved closer, wanting to greet Sam too. He walked past Jo, who raised her glass to him as he passed, and he smiled at her in return.

“Hey,” he heard Dean say. “How’s mom?”

“Proud of you,” Sam said. “Like me.”

Over Sam’s shoulder, Castiel saw the moment utter relief flooded Dean’s face, and then watched him say,

“Aw. You big baby.”

“Whatever.” Sam dropped the hug, the light in his eyes betraying the put-on crossness in his tone.

“Do we know if this means…” Dean said.

“I have no idea. Mom’s talking to the press. She said it’s gonna be rough. Someria isn’t against us, but a lot of people are going to be. But she’s happy, Dean. She’s really happy.”

Sam caught sight of Castiel standing just a few feet away, and his face relaxed into a grin.

“So,” he said. “Part of the family on paper now.”

Castiel came closer, and smiled at him. Dean shifted slightly so that their shoulders brushed as Castiel replied,

“I suppose so. I forget what this means. Am I a Duke, now? Or an Earl?”

“Whatever you wanna be,” Dean said, while Sam grinned.

Castiel thought for a second.

“A librarian,” he said. “And your husband.”

“Putting me second to the books,” Dean replied, but his cheeks were going a pleased shade of pink. “I get it.”

“You’ll just never match up to a night with Jane Austen….”

“Give me a shot at it, at least,” Dean said. And he was joking, but suddenly Castiel’s mind was a very blissful blank as he realised that – that spending a night with Dean instead of Jane Austen was a possibility. A real, actual possibility. They could do that. Maybe – maybe they _would_ do that. Maybe later, they might… Castiel swallowed.

The stare between them lengthened, until Sam cleared his throat.

“Okay,” he said. “Going to find the snacks.”

He turned, and almost walked over a woman with long dark hair in a ponytail, who was carrying a bowl of baby carrots. Sam made a noise of surprise and offered an apology, which made the woman smile.

“It’s okay,” she said.

“Maybe I can get you a drink to apologise?” Sam turned towards the kitchen. “I think I saw they had –”

“Wait,” interrupted the woman, “please could you look at me when you talk? I’m deaf, so I can understand you by lip-reading.”

“Oh,” Sam said, “crap… sorry.” He signed _sorry,_ his hands looking a little clumsy, and then said while looking right at her, “Maybe I could get you a drink? I think I saw they had Orangina in the kitchen…”

They walked away side by side, leaving Dean and Castiel standing together – surrounded by people talking, people who cared about them, and yet in the midst of it somehow alone with each other. Dean’s hand reached out, and brushed Castiel’s. Castiel took it, and held it.

Later, in a small barn by the beach, all alone, Dean and Castiel sat together and watched the huff and sigh of the sea through the open doors.

They weren’t touching. They sat like they’d always done, somehow falling into old habits, near enough to be aware of possibilities but holding back from true closeness.

The dawn light was painting pinks and light blues with uncertain, hopeful strokes against the sky.

“So…” Dean said. As though a spell had been broken, Castiel turned to Dean.

“So,” he said.

“You know, I… don’t know what we do now,” Dean said. Castiel turned to look at him. He marvelled, again, inside. He was sitting here with Dean. Dean had chosen him. Dean had chosen this. In front of his family and in front of a crowd of people, at the crucial moment, Dean had chosen this.

He was still wearing his prince’s clothes, though they were untidy now, the collar loose and the shoes off. The party had gone on for so many hours, and when Dean and Castiel had slipped away there had still been people up and talking in corners – Donna and Jody, who waved them off with warm smiles, and Sam with the dark-haired woman he’d almost flattened. The two of them had been chatting cosily at the kitchen table, not even noticing Dean and Castiel leave.

Castiel took in a breath, and then let it out.

“I don’t know either,” he said.

“Mm.”

“But,” Castiel said, “it feels like a good kind of not knowing.”

Dean half-smiled, and looked back at Castiel.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s kinda new.”

“It feels good,” Castiel said. Dean’s smile widened.

“Yeah,” he said. “It does.”

His eyes were moving over Castiel’s face. Castiel sat quietly, letting Dean look at him, letting them both exist slow and unhurried in this moment. The familiar smell of salt water and cool sand was in the air.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Dean said. “I can’t believe…”

“I know.”

“When you said yes to me in Vegas, this was it,” Dean said. His voice was suddenly rougher, and he looked back out to sea. “This was what I wanted.”

Castiel reached across, and put his hand over Dean’s.

“Why did you even say yes to me,” Dean said, “for real. Were you just drunk, or…”

“I _was_ drunk,” Castiel said.

“Oh.”

“But that isn’t why I did it.”

Dean waited for more, looking out of the open door. The sea sighed up and down the sands. Castiel paused, and then he said,

“I did it for you. Because you needed me to. But I also did it for me… because I wanted to. I suppose…” His mouth was suddenly dry. But why should he be embarrassed to say this now? “Whatever way you look at it, I did it because I love you.”

Dean’s head whipped around to look at him again, his lips parting slightly.

“I love you,” Castiel said again.

“Cas…”

Dean stared at him, and Castiel smiled. He’d said it. So many years of waiting. So many times he’d almost said it, and bitten it back, forced it down. So much time spent aching and yearning and wishing. All of it, put into three words that he’d spoken aloud.

It was done. It was over. The hiding was ended.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Castiel said, his hand still resting on Dean’s. “I know that it’s not…”

He trailed off, and there was a long moment of silence.

“I love you back,” Dean said, the words half-fumbled. “Too. I… me too.” He twisted his hand, so that his fingers could interlock with Castiel’s. “Me too,” he repeated, more forcefully.

Castiel couldn’t find words. The emotion in him was too big, too much. He wanted to cry, or laugh, or – he looked at Dean, and something in him shifted to the front. A feeling that he’d pushed away for so long, battled back. A sudden breath-thieving wanting.

He leaned forwards, and kissed Dean.

Dean’s lips were soft. Castiel tightened his grip on Dean’s hand as a wave of physical sensation rushed through him, a kind of hot static, a feeling that demanded more.

Castiel pulled away from the kiss, and looked at Dean. For the first time in his life, he felt a rush of attraction that he knew was reciprocated. For the first time in his life, the way he felt about Dean wasn’t something he had to shove away and hope no one noticed. For the first time, this feeling inside him seemed good.

Better than good. It seemed perfect. Dean looked at him like it was perfect. Like it was beautiful.

“Hey,” Dean said. “You okay?”

Castiel reached for words.

“I’m,” he tried, and then had to take another go at it. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”

Dean frowned, but it was the frown Castiel knew so well, the one where Dean was touched and didn’t know what to say. His head dropped a little lower, and Castiel leaned forward, and pressed their foreheads together.

“This might be the best it’s gonna get,” Dean said. “Just so you know.”

“Hmm?”

“The reality’s gonna hit soon,” Dean said, with a half-laugh. “And then you’re gonna have to live with me for the rest of your life, I guess.”

“If I’m lucky,” Castiel said. They were speaking quietly, up close.

“I just don’t wanna let you down, man. It took me so long to get my head right. I almost left it too late. And I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna let you down.”

Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s cheek, holding there for a few moments before pulling just a little away.

“You can, though,” Castiel said.

“What? No, man, I –”

“You can,” Castiel said, “and you will. And I will.” He squeezed Dean’s hand tighter. “I’m in this with you,” he said. “I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with you, Dean. And that’s hopefully going to be a long time. Long enough for us both to make mistakes.”

Castiel could hear Dean’s breathing, coming a little quickly.

“I’m alright with that,” Castiel said. “If you are. I’m going to screw up in this life. And I want to screw up with you.”

Dean moved, his free hand coming up to cup Castiel’s face, his lips finding Castiel’s. He kissed Castiel with an urgency, and Castiel felt it, what he was trying to say – the gratitude, the understanding, the mutuality of feeling. Dean’s hand on Castiel’s cheek made him shake. He’d wanted this for so, so long. Exactly this. And now he had it.

Dean broke off the kiss, and looked at Castiel in the eyes.

“I’m in this with you too,” he said.

Castiel leaned forward, chasing Dean’s lips. He kissed Dean, trying to speak with it like Dean did. _I love you,_ he tried to say. _I love you, I love you._ Dean shifted, turning to face Castiel more fully, and Castiel brought one leg up onto the sofa so that he could lean in a little more. Castiel’s lips were humming, buzzing, tingling with the joy of being touched. He was being touched by Dean. He was being kissed, _by Dean._ Another wave of physical feeling pulsed through him, and Castiel trailed his kisses away from Dean’s lips, and down his cheek to his neck.

He was kissing Dean’s neck. Dean was arching, tilting his head, and Castiel could hear his breathing come a little faster. Dean was squeezing Castiel’s hand, and Castiel could sense Dean’s muscles tensing all over, tautening under the feeling of Castiel’s mouth on his neck. The attraction in Castiel thudded. Dean was reacting to _him._ Dean was tensing under his, Castiel’s, touch. It was Castiel’s kiss that was making Dean breathe quicker.

“W-wait,” Dean said, and Castiel pulled back.

“Are you alright?” Castiel said. “Is… this alright?”

“I wanted to ask you that,” Dean said. He kept his hold on Castiel’s hand. “‘S far as I know, you haven’t ever really… I mean, we talked ages ago about how you’re not into hooking up with people, and I just wanted to check that you’re not – I mean, you don’t have to do this just ‘cause we’re married, you know, we can just – we can do whatever you want. Whatever.”

Castiel wanted to lean in and kiss him again, but he forced himself to use words instead.

“It’s true,” he said. “I haven’t hooked up with anyone. I just… I didn’t tell you why I didn’t want to, when we talked before. It wasn’t because I never felt attracted to anyone. It was because I only felt attracted to you.”

Dean stared at him.

“I don’t want that to sound… it’s just the connection we have. There’s something about it. I feel… close to you. And that makes me…” Castiel swallowed. “That makes me want you.”

“Jesus,” Dean said quietly, but with feeling. “Cas.”

“Is that… if you need time to get used to this – to us – we don’t have to do anything,” Castiel said. “Right now, whatever you want, I want to do that.”

Dean kissed him. It was becoming familiar, the feeling of Dean’s kiss – oh, but then Dean opened his mouth, and his tongue gently traced a line that Castiel could feel between his parted lips. Castiel’s breath stuttered, and on the exhale he heard himself make a sound in his throat. That – that had been – Castiel could feel his body reacting. Dean’s tongue in his mouth. Dean’s tongue, in his _mouth._ Dean’s tongue, Dean’s mouth, warm, open, letting Castiel gently slide his own tongue in and then out.

Fuck. Castiel pulled away and took a breath to calm himself.

“Good?” Dean asked.

“So good,” Castiel said. “It feels so good. Can we…”

“Again?”

“Mm.”

Dean kissed him again in answer. Deeper, longer. Castiel let one of his hands wander, resting on Dean’s thigh. He could do this. He could _do_ this. Dean pulled his legs a little wider, asking for closer touch. Castiel felt his pants tightening.

“Cas…”

“Mm –”

“Cas –” Dean kissed him harder, one hand sliding around Castiel’s back. Castiel sat up straighter, his body wanting tension, tightness, hardness. Dean pushed forward, further, further, until Castiel’s arched body was being pressed back against the sofa cushions, and Dean was over him.

Castiel kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him. His palms held Dean, kept him steady and close as he levered his body up in the places it wanted to be touched, finding friction against Dean’s weight above him.

“Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean stopped, pulling away. “Over me… put your leg over me.” Dean did as he was asked, following Castiel’s guiding hands, legs straddling Castiel’s body. Castiel sat up to kiss him, and as he did so he tugged on Dean’s princely jacket.

“Cas…” Dean said, while Castiel’s hands pushed away the fabric, and traced the bare skin beneath. “Fuck.” Dean pushed the jacket all the way off, and then tugged his dress shirt over his head, throwing it to one side. Castiel leaned back against the sofa cushions, on his elbows, as Dean above him was bathed half-naked in morning light.

He looked so beautiful. Castiel reached up a hand, and slid his fingers up the soft skin of Dean’s stomach, over his flat chest, lingering at the edge of the darker circle of his nipple. He heard Dean draw in a breath.

“I used to dream about you like this,” Castiel murmured.

With Dean sitting on him, straddling him, Castiel could feel Dean’s body react. The tightening of his leg muscles, and the visible arousal pushing his pants out of shape.

Dean had liked that. Castiel’s words, Castiel’s touching, had made Dean hard.

“I used to think about your body,” Castiel said.

“Jesus,” Dean muttered. Castiel slid his hand down Dean’s chest, lower, and then lower still.

“I used to imagine you,” Castiel said. “I used to imagine us.”

“Cas,” Dean said, as Castiel began to push harder on the material of Dean’s pants, feeling for the shape of him, wanting to touch for the first time. “Cas, fuck – come here –”

Castiel sat up and Dean pulled at Castiel’s clothes, now, more gently than Castiel had done, sliding the shirt over Castiel’s head and greeting him with a kiss once it was off. Dean moved his body, just a little, back and forward.

“What do you want me to do,” he said, the words low and husky, and Castiel was heady with it, his body twitching just a little each time Dean moved ever so slightly, shifting Castiel’s pants against his own arousal.

“I want,” Castiel said, and then swallowed hard. “I want to see… I want to see you.”

Dean leaned down, and kissed him. Castiel chased the taste of his mouth, hands running lines across Dean’s bare upper torso – and then Dean pulled back, and got off the sofa.

“Wait…” Castiel protested, but then Dean walked over to the door of the barn and closed it, giving them their privacy in case any early wakers happened to pass by. And then Dean reached for his belt and unbuckled it. As Castiel watched, he took off his pants, letting them fall to the floor.

He stood in the barn on his feet, naked.

Castiel sat still, his breathing hard. Dean’s body was a little shiny in places with sweat. His muscles in his legs were tense. His eyes were on Castiel, letting him look, doing exactly what Castiel had wanted. Castiel moved forward, onto his knees on the floor.

“Cas,” Dean said, hushed.

“Can I…”

“Yes, _god,_ yes.”

Castiel reached up his hand, and ran his fingertips along the length of Dean’s cock.

Dean’s breath caught. Castiel did it again, a little harder, and watched Dean’s toes curl against the floor of the barn.

“You’re beautiful,” Castiel said softly. “You’re so beautiful.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Dean’s upper thigh, breathing in. He felt Dean’s hand on the top of his head, pushing gently into his hair. “I want you so much.” Another kiss, now just to the side of Dean’s cock, against the curling hairs there. The sensation against Castiel’s lips made his whole body ache with want.

A drop of wetness at Dean’s tip beaded and then slid down his shaft. Castiel watched its progress, and then moved forward, and used his tongue to draw it into his mouth and taste it.

Dean’s hand on Castiel’s hair tightened.

“Fuck, Cas,” he said. “Fuck. This is – fuck.”

The wetness was rich and strong and musky. Castiel opened his mouth, and took Dean’s cock into it – just a little way, his tongue swirling against the tip, seeking the taste.

“F-fuck.” Dean’s breathing was stuttering. “I’m – fuck, Cas, yeah.”

Castiel drew Dean further into his mouth. He breathed in. He wanted every sensation to be Dean. The scent of him. The feel of him, heavy, hard, in Castiel’s mouth. The sight of him… Castiel looked up, and met Dean’s eyes.

“Shit,” Dean said, and Castiel felt Dean’s cock twitch inside his mouth. “Oh, god. Can you – can you move? Can you –”

Castiel took Dean in a little further still, and then let him ease outward. And then back in, and out.

“Uhh,” Dean managed. “Mnh – Cas –”

In and out. Castiel relaxed his throat. Dean’s body was starting to move, his hips rolling in time with Castiel’s movements, his head tilting back.

“Oh, god,” he said. “Cas.”

There wasn’t enough of Dean on Castiel’s body. Castiel reached up his hands, traced lines up Dean’s thighs.

“Fuck, yes – can you – my –” Dean broke off when Castiel’s fingers explored, stroking the tender skin behind his shaft. “Ohhh, god. Oh, _god.”_

Castiel’s timing was inexpert, he was losing his rhythm – but Dean had his hand lightly on Castiel’s head, holding him steady, moving his hips while Castiel touched and pressed with his fingers at the spots that made Dean groan.

“I’m gonna – wait, wait, I’m gonna – _fuck_ , hold on…” Dean took a step back, and suddenly Castiel was left mouth open, breathing hard, spit trickling down his chin that he wiped away with one hand.

“Dean,” Castiel said, hearing his voice come out low with the intensity of his arousal. His own cock was so hard that it hurt with wanting to be touched.

“Your turn,” Dean said. “I wanna – I wanna come with you – when I do, I wanna come with you.”

Castiel blinked, and then took the hand that Dean held out to him. He got to his feet. Under the light touch of Dean’s hand, Castiel was moved back towards the sofa, and then Dean was releasing Castiel’s erection from his pants, dropped them to the ground. Castiel stood naked, aroused, in front of another person, for the first time in his life. Dean’s eyes were on his body, his mouth already slightly open, and Castiel felt a rush of heat run through him, overwhelming.

“You wanna sit?” Dean managed. Castiel nodded, and sat down on the sofa, the material strange against his bare skin. Dean dropped down next to him to the floor, between Castiel’s legs.

“Tell me what you want me to do to make it good,” Dean said roughly. “Tell me. And if you’re close, tell me.”

“Dean…”

“Is this – you want this?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Yes.”

Dean leaned forwards. No kisses, no waiting – he took Castiel into his mouth. Castiel’s body arched. Around his hardness was heat, wetness, softness.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Oh, _fuck_.”

Dean held Castiel in his mouth, steady. Castiel’s breathing was so hard that his chest was rising and falling like he was running.

“Fuck,” he said again. He’d never felt anything like it in his life. The sensation of another person there – and it was _Dean._ Dean had Castiel inside his mouth. Dean was using his tongue – _fuck._ Dean was starting to move.

“Slowly,” Castiel said, when the pleasure verged almost on pain for a second. “Slow – unhh – slowly, Dean, please…”

Dean slowed, letting his mouth make tiny, easy movements. Back, and forth. Back, and forth. Castiel closed his eyes, his brows knitting as he worked to hold himself steady, but his legs were stretching out on either side of Dean, the muscles straining. God, _god,_ he was already close. He recognised the way the feeling built up, heat coiling inside him.

“Mmm – mmm,” he managed. “Mm – Dean, don’t – don’t stop, I – I’m – you can – go faster, I’m going to –”

Dean hummed, and the vibration had Castiel grasping at the sofa with his hands, seeking something to hold onto. His body was alight, little points of touch all over sharp with pleasure.

“I’m c– I’m close, I’m… I want you – wait, I want… stop, I want…”

Castiel understood it now, as the rush of release neared; he wanted to do this together, closer. Dean slowed, and stopped, Castiel making a stuttered noise as he pulled away.

“Here,” Castiel said, “Dean –”

Castiel shifted his weight back on the sofa so that he was sitting with his back pressed against the cushions, and Dean did as he was guided to do by Castiel’s hands, straddling Cas again, legs bent on either side of him in a kneel. Castiel kissed him, the kiss made darker and richer by the tastes in their mouths, the tastes of each other.

With one hand, still kissing Dean, Castiel took Dean’s cock into his hand. He felt Dean reach for him in turn, and start moving his hand up and down, the feeling smooth with the wetness Dean’s mouth had left there. Castiel dropped his kisses to Dean’s neck as Dean’s tight hand jacked him slowly; he had to focus to keep his own hand moving. Dean’s cock was dry to his touch, and Castiel let a spit string fall from his lips to the base of Dean’s shaft, wetting it. It felt beautiful to do it. Every movement Castiel made felt beautiful. The way their bodies were moving, pushing against each other as their hands worked. The shake in Castiel’s legs. The sweat that was running down Dean’s taut neck, that Castiel caught with kisses.

“Uhhhh,” Dean grunted. “Cas – yeah. Cas, are you –”

“I’m –” Castiel’s breathing was fast, their movements getting sloppier and more frantic. “I’m nearly –”

“Come with me,” Dean said, looking down at him, using his free hand to guide Castiel’s face up into a kiss. “Mmm – mmm –”

“Ah,” Castiel breathed out against Dean’s cheek. “Ah, ah, ah – ah, Dean – _ah!”_

“Ca-a-as,” Dean moaned.

Castiel’s release was a bolt that went through him, heat, love, pleasure, that closed his eyes when it hit. He rode it, feeling Dean’s come painting his body in hot liquid streaks, knowing his own would be on Dean. His legs kicked out and his stomach tensed and untensed as spasms ran through him. Above him, he could feel Dean’s body shuddering with his orgasm, could feel Dean’s heavy breathing against his brow.

Slowly, slowly, Castiel felt his body relax.

He opened his eyes, and looked up at Dean.

Dean, the man he loved, who loved him back.

For a few moments, they only breathed together, on the come-down. And then, very gently, Dean leant down and kissed Castiel’s lips. In the rosy glow of their bodies’ shared release, they traded quiet kisses.

“Was that alright?” Castiel murmured.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Sorry that I – I didn’t last long –”

Dean let out a soft snort, and Castiel’s brief worry eased.

“I was right there with you,” he said. “We’ll save the marathons for later.”

Carefully, Dean rolled off Castiel and onto the sofa cushions. They were messy, and without Dean touching him and the urgency of arousal to fuel him Castiel was already getting cold, but he didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to leave this moment. He could feel little twists of pleasure, tiny aftershocks, running through his body.

Dean sat up, though, after a little while, and picked up one of their discarded shirts, and used it to clean off first Castiel, and then himself. He got to his feet, and without words reached out for Castiel, who took his hand and stood up. They dressed themselves, Dean pulling on his jacket over his bare skin to give Castiel the shirt that wasn’t dirty.

They walked back to the palace. It was too early yet for many people to be awake, and those who were up and about seemed too bleary-eyed to pay them any attention. Charlie had to have done something about the press, Castiel thought, for there to have been no one following them all night. He silently thanked her, wherever she was.

At the palace, they walked up the stairs, holding hands. The few palace workers around kept their eyes forward. The old building welcomed them back with a touch of austere warmth. The two of them walked to the door of Dean’s room, and went in together.

Several hours later, Castiel awoke with Dean’s arms around him.

He lay still, blinking slowly in the sunlight pouring through the window – they’d forgotten to close the curtains, but it didn’t seem to matter. After a little while, he shut his eyes again, and dropped back into sleep. Together, they rested.

On each of their left hands – glittering in the light – were two matching golden rings.


	21. Chapter 21

_Six months later_

When the letter arrived through the door, it did so with a very ordinary _flop_ onto Castiel’s welcome mat.

Castiel, who had been making himself and Dean some coffee in his kitchen, leaned over to kiss Dean’s cheek before heading down the hallway to retrieve it. He had two empty coffee mugs still in his hands, which he only noticed when he reached his front door and realised he had no spare hand to pick up the post with. He hooked the fingers of one hand through the handles of both mugs – one that said _Kiss the Librarian,_ and one that said _Kiss the Cook._

When Castiel stooped to pick up the letter, it was thick and the paper was high-quality.

Awkwardly, one-handed, Castiel ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. There was a short note in rich purple ink.

 _Save the date,_ it said in perfect calligraphy.

“Dean,” Castiel called through to the kitchen, “Lisa and Charlie are getting married.”

Dean’s head appeared around the door.

“That’s an idea,” he said. “We should do that sometime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! <3


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